


Your Hand in Mine

by kingess



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Epilepsy, Gen, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, lots of friendship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 100,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingess/pseuds/kingess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, Courfeyrac's girlfriend walked out on him--and their five year old son. Courfeyrac did the best he could for his little boy on his own, but now, out of work and drowning under medical bills, Courfeyrac has it rock bottom.</p><p>But you know what they say about rock bottom...the only way forward from there is up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first order of business when Courfeyrac moved into the pool house behind his parents’ home was to set up the wifi and the TV so he could access Netflix. He supposed it was petty and he was sure his mom would say something about it if she ever found out, but he had a five-year-old to entertain and the only way he was going to get _any_ unpacking done was by keeping Lucas sufficiently distracted. Which meant Netflix.

Of course, his parents were a scant fifteen yards away and his mom was eager to babysit, but Courfeyrac was less eager to leave his son in her care. Which wasn’t to say that she was a bad person (or even a bad parent), because she wasn’t, but Courfeyrac didn’t necessarily want his son to be influenced by his parents’ more…upper-class attitudes. (When he got a couple of drinks in him and was less careful with his words, he had no problem calling his parents out on their blatant snobbery and elitism, but when he was sober he tried to be more polite.) He had turned out okay under their influence, but not all of his siblings had, and it wasn’t a risk he wanted to take with his own child. After all, there was a reason he moved across the state as soon as he could so he would have an excuse to _not_ visit every weekend.

If he hadn’t lost his job and if he weren’t nearly drowning in debt to cover Lucas’s medical bills, he wouldn’t have moved here at all.

So Lucas was left to the gentle care of Netflix—the savior of so many single parents, Courfeyrac was certain—and he set to work on unpacking Lucas’s room first so they would have half a chance to settle back into the usual bedtime routine tonight. The pediatric neurologist back in Rochester warned Courfeyrac that the stress of this move might trigger Lucas’s seizures, even with his medication. Stress and sleep deprivation almost always increased the likelihood of seizures. Courfeyrac had read all the statistics. Lucas was responding well to his latest medication—no matter how much he protested taking it—but Courfeyrac still had to battle back panic at the possibility that the medication would _stop_ working like the last round did.

Of course, even if Courfeyrac didn’t have to worry about Lucas’s health, he probably would have unpacked Lucas’s room first anyway. Children tended to take priority like that.

After tending to Lucas’s room, he was going to try to get to the kitchen. His mom had invited him to share meals with her and his dad as often as he wanted, but he had enough unpleasant memories of family dinners from his own childhood that he didn’t want to subject himself or his son to any more of that than he needed to. Maybe before midnight he’d get around to unpacking his bedding, but he was pretty well resigned to the fact that he’d be sleeping on the couch for the next couple of nights.

He had just finished setting up Lucas’s bed and was trying to find a good home for his favorite books and toys—a shelf, he needed a good shelf for this stuff, maybe one with cubbies—when he heard his cell phone ringing. He thought about ignoring the call—he was a master of screening calls—but what if it was one of Lucas’s doctors…He groaned and started searching for his phone.

Lucas found it first.

“Hello,” Courfeyrac heard his son say in a polite, practiced voice. “This is my daddy’s phone. May I ask who’s calling?”

Courfeyrac had had several conversations with Lucas about not answering his phone, but he was glad to see his son was at least being polite about it. He walked into the living room and saw Lucas nodding at whatever the person on the phone was saying, and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile. Lucas looked so proud of himself.

“Who is it, buddy?” he asked.

Lucas held the phone out. “He said his name was John.” Courfeyrac didn’t know anyone named John, as common of a name as it was, but his oldest friend did go by Jehan. Lucas could say—and even spell—Courfeyrac, but it seemed he needed to work a little on Jehan.

Courfeyrac took the phone from Lucas and tousled his hair. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, “but remember we’re not supposed to answer Daddy’s phone unless I say it’s okay, all right?”

Lucas nodded before turning back to the TV.

“Hey, Jehan,” Courfeyrac said. He and Jehan had been friends since they were in grade school, attending the same pretentious private school and having the same little tolerance for its elitist bullshit. While Courfeyrac had moved out of New Castle as soon as he was able, Jehan still lived and worked in here, which was one of the more pleasant aspects about moving back here.

“Was that Lucas?” Jehan asked from the other line. “He sounds so big! How old is he now?”

“He turned five a few months back,” Courfeyrac said. “And I swear he’s getting bigger every day.”

A fact that was particularly bothersome at the moment, because he really didn’t have the money to keep buying his son more clothes on top of the medical bills. His parents were letting him stay here for free, and he was grateful, but he wanted to keep as much of his financial independence as he could.

“Is he doing okay?” Jehan asked. “I know the last time we talked, you still didn’t have the seizures under control…”

“The latest drugs seem to be doing the trick,” he said. “At least, I hope they are. He seemed to be doing well with the last round until they just stopped working one day and, well, it wasn’t fun.” No need to burden his friend with the terror of watching his child to succumb to another myoclonic-astatic seizure when he thought his little boy was finally going to be okay.

“I hope this medication round works out then,” Jehan said. “I can only imagine how hard this must be for you and Lucas.” He paused, then asked, “Are you back in New Castle yet?”

“Got in this morning.”

“Are you all moved in? You’re staying in your parents’ pool house, right? Or did they convince you to move into the main house?”

“We’re in the pool house,” he said. “And if by all moved in, you mean all my crap is here, then yes, I’m all moved in. Unfortunately, it’s all still in boxes and I hardly have any idea of where anything is.”

“I suppose you’re pretty busy, then.”

“Stop beating around the bush, Jehan,” he said.

“Any chance you’d be available for a job interview in, say, a half hour?”

Courfeyrac nearly dropped his phone. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” Jehan said. “There’s been a bit of a scandal with one of the history teachers at my school and they’re looking for an emergency replacement. I’ve already put in a good word for you with the principal.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I kid you not, my friend. The school is just ten minutes away from your parents’ house, but I can talk to Valjean and reschedule you for later in the day if you need more time. He just wants to get this job filled before anyone can make a big fuss about it. Do you think you can manage?”

No, he didn’t think he could find suitable interview clothes and a babysitter for Lucas in twenty minutes, but he wasn’t going to pass at an opportunity to get a job. He needed something full time with medical benefits, and a little bit of rush now would certainly be worth it in the long run. “Yeah, yeah, I can manage,” he said. “I just—you know I don’t have any experience teaching at a high school level, right?”

His last job had been teaching US history to seventh graders.

“But you’re qualified to teach seven through twelve, right? You’ve got a secondary education degree.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all they’re looking for,” Jehan said. “I’m at the school now—huzzah for summer prep meetings—and I can watch Lucas here if you can’t find a babysitter. Does that sound all right?”

“Jehan, I might kiss you when I see you.”

Jehan laughed. “I’ll text you the address and I’ll see you in a half hour.”

“Lucas, buddy,” Courfeyrac called, hanging up the phone and rushing into his room to find his suitcase, hoping to find something appropriate to wear to the interview. He paused. He had no idea where his shoes were. “Do you want to go on a little trip with Daddy?”

“No.”

Courfeyrac yanked his suitcase out from behind a stack of boxes. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to go back to the doctor. It smells funny there.”

“We’re not going to the doctor’s office,” he said. He’d have to remember not to refer to future trips to the doctor’s or to the hospital as _a little trip with Daddy_. “Daddy has to go talk to a nice man about getting a new job and my friend Jehan said that he could watch you while I talked to the man.”

Lucas walked into the room. “You should wear your polka-dot bow tie,” he said, looking at the combination of dress shirts and ties Courfeyrac had pulled out of the suitcase. “Can I show your friend my new dinosaur friend?”

“Of course you can, buddy,” he said. Knowing Jehan, he’d probably love to hear about Lucas’s new dinosaur friend—an orange and blue plush brachiosaurus dinosaur stuffed animal that he’d gotten for Lucas to keep him occupied on the car ride to New Castle.

“Okay,” Lucas said. “I’ll go.”

Courfeyrac was grateful beyond words that Lucas was feeling cooperative today. It’d be much easier to introduce Jehan to a happy, smiling Lucas than it would be to a screaming, crying Lucas. Courfeyrac spotted the rubber-maid bin he’d packed all their shoes in sitting on the dresser in his room and he grabbed it and put in on the floor in front of Lucas. “Do you think you can find Daddy’s brown shoes in there?” he asked. “It’d be a big help.”

With Lucas busy digging through the shoe bin, Courfeyrac rushed into the bathroom and quickly shaved, trying not to cut himself up too badly. He was hurrying back to his bedroom when he spotted someone lurking in the kitchen. He nearly had a heart attack before he recognized his mother.

“What the hell, Mom?” he demanded in a hushed voice. Lucas had a penchant for saying words he wasn’t meant to say and was always quick to point out when Daddy needed to put another quarter in their Swear Jar—which was currently lost in a box somewhere in the kitchen. Hopefully. “What are you doing here?”

“I let myself in,” she said. “Hugo, dear, this place is a mess. Are you sure you don’t want help unpacking?”

“You let yourself in? I thought I locked the door.”

“Yes, well, I have a key,” she said. “I wanted to see if you and Lucas wanted to come up to the house for lunch.”

“Sounds nice, Mom, but I’m actually in a rush to get somewhere.”

He checked his watch. He still had five minutes to get dressed before he’d have to wrestle Lucas into the car and get to the school.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’ve got a job interview,” he said.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I only just found out about it,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I really need to get changed.”

“Daddy, I found your shoes!” Lucas shouted from the bedroom.

“That’s great, buddy!” Courfeyrac hollered back.

“You shouldn’t let him shout like that,” his mom said.

“Right,” Courfeyrac said, walking back to his room. “I’m going to go change now, so…”

He should have known she would follow him. If he said anything about it, she’d probably retort with a _I changed your diapers, you’ve got nothing I have seen before_ statement, so he let the issue go. “What’s this job interview business about?”

“They’re looking for a history teacher at the school Jehan works at. You remember my friend Jehan, don’t you?”

“You mean that hippie with the long hair?”

“I don’t think his hair is that long anymore,” Courfeyrac said, shucking off his jeans so he could pull on a pair of slacks.

“He’s the boy who turned you gay, isn’t he?”

Courfeyrac glared at her. “First of all, I’m bisexual, not gay. We’ve been over this. Or did you forget my love affair with a woman that resulted in your grandson? Second, even if I were gay, it wouldn’t be because someone ‘turned’ me gay. Third, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk that way in front of my son.” He smiled at Lucas. “Why don’t you go find your shoes so you’re ready to leave when I am?”

Lucas looked at him hesitantly. He’d always been a sensitive kid. He didn’t like it when there was obvious emotional contention in the room.

“It’s all right, buddy,” he said. “But we’ve got to leave soon, okay?”

“You’re taking him with you to the job interview?” his mom asked once Lucas was out of the room.

“Jehan is at the school already,” he said. He shrugged into his nicest button up shirt. It’d look good with the bow tie Lucas wanted him to wear. “And he said that he’d be happy to watch Lucas for me.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable leaving Lucas with someone like that?” she asked. “What if he…what if Lucas has one of his…his fits?” she added in a hushed voice.

“You can call them seizures, Mom,” Courfeyrac said irritably. “Lucas has been seizure free for nearly two weeks now, so I have no reason to think that he’ll suddenly have one now and I’m not going to let his epilepsy force us to live in fear. Besides, most schools require teachers to take emergency first aid classes. He probably has training on how to handle seizures, and if he doesn’t, I will literally be down the hall.”

“You can leave Lucas with me, you know,” she said defensively. “I read all those PDF things you sent me. I know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I appreciate that, Mom,” he said, “but we’re in a hurry and I already told Lucas he could come with me. He’ll get upset if we change plans now.” He could tell her feelings were hurt and he sighed. “I promise we’ll have dinner with you and Dad tonight, all right? I just want to talk over some ground rules before I leave him with you guys.”

She sniffed. It was a snobbish sound. “All right,” she said. “Dinner is served at 5:30, and we still dress for it.”

Great. He was going to have to wrestle Lucas into nice clothes. “Sounds great,” he said. He finished tying his bow tie and he turned to his mom for inspection. “How do I look?” he asked.

She tugged at his bow tie a little. “You look charming,” she said. “Even if your hair is a little wild.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly. I expect to hear all about your new job over dinner.”

He offered her a smile before he rounded up Lucas and headed out for the interview.

* * *

 

Copland High School was a newer school in the area, only just seven years old. Jehan had done his student teaching there and had fallen in love with the school. Whenever Courfeyrac called him up to whine about his awful post at his old junior high—he loved his students, but he often wanted to strangle the administration—Jehan couldn’t help but brag about how wonderful his school was. It was hard not to resent him a little, but Courfeyrac pushed all that resentment aside when Jehan met him with a wide smile in the lobby of the school. He wished they had time for a proper reunion. It’d been years since they last saw each other, even though they kept in touch online and on the phone.

“You made it,” Jehan said.

“Barely,” he said. “My mom cornered me on the way out. I’m not late, am I?”

“You’re fine,” he said. “Valjean is in his office. I can show you back if you want.”

Courfeyrac tugged Lucas forward to introduce him to Jehan. “This is my friend, Jehan,” he told Lucas. “He’s going to stay with you while I go talk to that nice man about getting a job, okay?”

Jehan squatted down so he and Lucas could talk eye-to-eye. “Hi, Lucas,” he said. “Your daddy’s told me a lot about you. I’m really excited to get to hang out with you for a little bit.”

Lucas frowned a little, and for a second Courfeyrac worried that his son was about to melt down and refuse to go off with a complete stranger, but then Lucas sniffed and held out his stuffed dinosaur. “This is my dinosaur friend,” he said. “My daddy got him for me to be my new friend here.”

“Does your dinosaur friend have a name?” Jehan asked.

“Not yet,” Lucas said. “He’s very shy and he hasn’t told me his name yet.”

Jehan nodded solemnly. “Maybe together we can get him to share his name with us,” he said.

“Maybe if he had some chocolate he wouldn’t be shy anymore,” Lucas said. “Do you have any chocolate?”

Courfeyrac’s lips twitched. Clever kid. He was always after sweets.

“I’m sure I can find some,” Jehan said. “If your dad says it’s okay, I’d be happy to share the chocolate with you too, Lucas.”

“Can I, Dad?” Lucas asked.

“I’m sure that’ll be okay,” Courfeyrac said. He trusted Jehan not to overdose his son on sweets. “I need to go meet with the nice man now, okay? Will you be all right with Jehan?”

“Me and my dinosaur friend are going to have lots of fun and eat lots of chocolate,” Lucas said. “We like Jehan.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He bent down and kissed the top of Lucas’s head for luck. “I assume Valjean’s office is back there?” he asked, pointing to the main office.

“One of the secretaries will tell you where to go,” Jehan said. “I’ll take Lucas down to my classroom. Room 612.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good luck,” Jehan said. “You’re going to do great.

Courfeyrac introduced himself to a secretary—an older woman named Sheila—in the front office and she walked him back to Valjean’s office. Courfeyrac nearly took a step back when Valjean opened the door to his office because the man was absolutely massive. Courfeyrac supposed that none of the students dared cross the line with him, but as big as he was, he also had a kind, compassionate face and Courfeyrac remembered how highly Jehan had always spoken of the principal at his school.

“You must be Mr. Courfeyrac,” Valjean said, ushering Courfeyrac into the office. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I hope I didn’t put you out too much. Jehan tells me you’re a single father.”

“That’s right.”

Valjean nodded. “I raised my adoptive daughter by myself until I met my current partner when she was fifteen,” he said. “I remember how hard it can be looking after a child all by yourself. How old is your little one?”

“He just turned five,” Courfeyrac said.

“Ah, that’s a fun age,” Valjean said. “Is he starting kindergarten this year?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “He’s enrolled over at Nottingham Elementary.”

“A wonderful school,” Valjean told him. “My daughter works over there. Perhaps I’m biased, but they’ve got some superb teachers working in that school.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Courfeyrac said. The staff at Lucas’s preschool and daycare had been less than happy to work with him once he started having seizures, and Courfeyrac hoped that whoever Lucas had this year as a teacher would be far more understanding.

“Well,” Valjean said, “let’s take a seat and get this interview started. I assume Jehan filled you in on the situation?”

“He said that there was a bit of a scandal with one of your history teachers,” he said.

“That’s putting it nicely,” Valjean said. “Mr. Morris, our former US history and government teacher, has stepped down after word got out that he fathered the baby one of our recent graduates just had. The local news hasn’t picked up the story yet—though I’m sure they will—and I want to have Morris’s replacement already hired by the time the story breaks.”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said.

“So, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

They ran through the normal gamut of interview questions and Courfeyrac talked about how much he loved teaching and working with young adults. He talked about his teaching style and his classroom management and Valjean asked him how he’d approach handling various disciplinary situations. Valjean explained a little about the school’s philosophy and how they tried to treat the students and the faculty here as a team working together instead of some sort of hierarchy. Courfeyrac thought it all sounded like a dream.

“Tell me about your last job,” Valjean said. “I understand you were teaching at a junior high?”

“That’s right,” Courfeyrac said. “I taught US history there for three years. I loved the students I worked with—I had the honor of working with some exceptional kids—but the administration and I didn’t always see eye to eye on things.”

“On what sort of things?”

“Lately they’ve been really cracking down on the girls’ dress code,” he said. “One of the assistant principals in particular was very adamant that the clothes the girls were wearing shouldn’t distract the boys or even the teachers, and while I understand that having some sort of dress code is important, I have real issues with people who prioritize boys’ education over the health and comfort of the girls in the school.”

Valjean nodded. “Is that why you left?”

Courfeyrac licked his lips. He considered lying for a moment, but if Valjean called his old school, the truth would come out anyway. “I didn’t leave so much as I was fired.”

He braced himself for an automatic dismissal, but Valjean’s expression was more thoughtful than disapproving.

“What were you fired for?” he asked.

“Officially,” Courfeyrac said, “I was fired for missing too many days of work. I don’t know if Jehan told you, but my son was diagnosed with a form of epilepsy in the last year—he was having multiple seizures a day last September and October—and I was forced to miss quite a bit of work because of it. I always made sure I had a substitute, but I will put my son’s health in front of my job every time. The school district was less than pleased with the end-of-year test scores from my class.”

“Is your son doing better now?”

“We hope so,” Courfeyrac said. “The type of epilepsy he has is often resistant to treatment, but we’re trying a new medication right now and he seems to be doing very well with it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Valjean said, though he made no comment on Courfeyrac’s policy of putting his son before his job. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Courfeyrac asked about the health care benefits—he didn’t care if it made him sound greedy, he needed to be able to pay for Lucas’s medication and his doctor’s bills—and asked how the school handled substitute teachers. He was relieved to hear that he wouldn’t have to pay the subs out of his own paycheck. He was relieved even further when Valjean assured him that they’d happily make reasonable accommodations for him to be with his son when the need arose.

“It’s been a pleasure getting to know you,” Valjean said at the end of the interview. “I very much look forward to getting to know you more during the school year.”

It took a moment for those words to process in Courfeyrac’s mind. “I…I got the job?” he said, stunned. “Don’t you need to interview other applicants?”

“There are no other applicants,” Valjean said. “We couldn’t officially open the job listing without inviting unwanted questions. Jehan assured that I wouldn’t need to interview anyone else after I met you—and it seems he was right.”

“So I got the job?” he said again.

“If you want to take it,” Valjean said, “then it is certainly yours.”

Courfeyrac reached across the desk to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you so much,” he said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, friends! I'm happy to be back again with new fic to share with all of you! According to my outline, this is going to be another long one (though hopefully not as long as Requited because I don't think I can handle writing something that long again).
> 
> Anyway, my regular readers will know that I try to update at least once a week, but I'm afraid that's not really going to be an option here. Being an Adult is rather time consuming, but I am hoping to be able to post at least once a month. I can make no guarantees at this time, but that is currently my plan! So expect the next chapter sometime in March at the latest (might be sooner if I can get my act together a little).
> 
> In the meantime, come say hi on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his better judgment, that night Courfeyrac bribed Lucas into putting on his nice shirt and clip-on tie and brought him across the yard to his parents’ house for family dinner. If he hadn’t explicitly promised his mom that he’d be there—and if he didn’t have good news to share on top of that—he probably would have skipped out on dinner and taken Lucas to McDonald’s or invited himself to dinner over at Jehan’s place.

The house was much the same as it had been when Courfeyrac had moved out eight years ago—cold, sterile, and more like a museum than a place where actual people actually lived. His childhood had been one of rules and formalities and as a young child, he hadn’t minded it so much because with those rules and formalities came lavish gifts and all the newest toys, but when he grew older, the atmosphere became more stifling and he choked under it and he swore to himself when Lucas was born that his son wouldn’t be raised like that. Lucas would have a warm, affectionate childhood—something he’d be able to look back on fondly. Even if it was lacking in the newest, most expensive toys, Courfeyrac knew that Lucas knew he was loved and that was what was important to Courfeyrac. Lucas never had to worry that his daddy would love him less because he made a mistake.

So bringing Lucas _here_ , where the dinners were still formal affairs and where children were expected to be seen and not heard, felt almost like he was betraying his son and he made a note to himself to start coming up with excuses to miss these dinners as often as possible. As soon as they set foot inside the main house, Lucas slipped his hand into Courfeyrac’s and as they walked to the dining room Lucas kept close to him instead of lingering behind to get a better look at the house.

“This is where I grew up,” Courfeyrac said. “This was my house when I was a little boy like you.”

“Nuh uh,” Lucas said.

“Yeah huh,” Courfeyrac said. “Maybe after dinner, Grandma will let us go upstairs and I can show you where I used to sleep when I was your age.”

Of course, he had no idea what his old bedroom even looked like these days. When he left for college, he’d left on such bad terms with his parents that he wouldn’t have been surprised if their first action had been to redecorate the room entirely. It was probably an exercise room now or something. Whatever. If the room was changed, then Courfeyrac could probably show Lucas his older brother’s room. David had always been the favorite and his parents had practically turned his room into a shrine when he left for school. Lucas wouldn’t know the difference.

His parents were already in the dining room when they arrived and Courfeyrac kissed his mother on the cheek and shook his father’s hand before helping Lucas into his chair. He was glad someone—he suspected his mother—had the foresight to provide Lucas with a booster seat because Lucas’s table manners were questionable at best and they’d be worse if Lucas couldn’t reach the table properly.

“So, Hugo,” his father said once they were all seated and the maid—Courfeyrac couldn’t believe his parents still had a maid. Who did that anymore?—had served them all, “your mother said you had a job interview this afternoon?”

“That’s right,” he said as he cut the chicken on Lucas’s plate into bite-sized pieces. “A teaching position just opened up unexpectedly at Copland High and Jehan was able to get me an interview.”

“And how did it go?” his mom asked.

“Really well, actually,” he said. “I was offered the job on the spot.”

“That’s wonderful, Hugo!” his mom said.

Meanwhile, his father _humphed_ and said, “They must have been desperate to fill that opening.”

Courfeyrac refrained from retorting with _Or maybe I’m just that awesome_ because he was supposed to be an adult and set a good example for his son. “I start officially on Monday,” he said instead. “There’s meetings with the history department and setting up my classroom and about a dozen other things that I need to do before classes start in a week and a half.” He was going to have to start working on lesson plans, which was going to _suck_. He’d recycled his old lesson plans as often as he could over the last three years, but now he’d be teaching fifteen-year-olds instead of twelve-year-olds. His lessons plans would have to be more rigorous and in depth.

“I assume I’ll be watching Lucas while you’re at work?” his mom asked.

Courfeyrac glanced at his son, who was amusing himself by making his carrot sticks talk to each other in a quiet voice. “The principal said I was welcome to bring him in during the prep days,” he said. “And I was going to have him help me decorate my classroom.”

“He’s five,” his dad said. “How much do you expect him to be able to manage?”

“You’d be surprised,” Courfeyrac said. He always brought Lucas along when he decorated his classroom, even when he was just a baby. It would feel wrong not to bring him along now. “And next week is the elementary school open house, so I can go meet his teacher and I need to set up an appointment with a pediatrician here.”

“Oh, you should meet with the Sorenson’s son,” his mom said. “He just opened up his own family practice and he’s doing very well for himself.”

“I appreciate the tip,” he said, “but my pediatric neurologist in Rochester gave me the name of a doctor out here who has experience working with different types of epilepsy, and I think I’d prefer to take Lucas to him.” Of course, he still had to check if this pediatrician would accept his new insurance. It was on his to-do list.

“What’s his name?” his dad asked. “Maybe we’ve heard of him.”

“Uhm, Commafur?” he said. “Something like that. I’ve got it written down somewhere.”

That was another thing on his to-do list. Find the name of the pediatrician.

“I can take Lucas to his doctor’s appointment,” his mom offered.

“Maybe in the future,” Courfeyrac said, “but I really think I should go to the first appointment with a new doctor. You wouldn’t know the answer to half the questions they’d ask you about Lucas.”

“I raised three children,” she asked. “I doubt the questions doctors asked have changed all that much in twenty years.”

“Do you know what medications he’s on?” Courfeyrac asked shortly. “Do you know what medications we’ve already tried? Do you know how often he has seizures? Or what kind of seizures he has and how long they last and how well he handles them?” He sat back in his seat, his appetite suddenly fleeing. “I appreciate your help, really, but I think this is something I need to do.”

“I could learn all those things if you trusted me enough to leave him with me,” she said. “You wouldn’t even let me watch him for a half hour while you went to your interview.”

“Yeah, well, I hadn’t had the chance to talk things over with you yet,” Courfeyrac said, avoiding eye contact with her. “Besides, I don’t exactly feel like he’d be safe here.”

“What?” she demanded. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because when we talked about me moving back in, the _one_ thing I asked you to do was put a fence around the pool since Lucas and I would be so close to it and you didn’t do it.”

“You said Lucas knew how to swim,” his dad said.

“He does,” Courfeyrac said, “but in case you’ve been hiding under a rock for the last year, Lucas also has seizures!”

“We’re not foolish enough to let him swim without someone watching him,” his dad said.

“What about when he’s just playing in the yard, then?” Courfeyrac asked. “And you’re not watching him because you know he’s smart enough to stay away from the pool without an adult around, but he’s playing by the water anyway and he has a drop attack and falls in the pool? What then? I asked you to put up that fence for a _reason_.”

“Drop attack?” his dad asked. “What the hell is a drop attack?”

“Daddy,” Lucas said, “Grandpa said a bad word.”

“I know, buddy,” Courfeyrac said. “We’ll put a quarter in the Swear Jar for him when we get home, okay?” He wished his parents had some sort of play room where he could send Lucas. He worried about what sort of messages his son was hearing in this conversation and worried about what sort of things he was internalizing. The fear Courfeyrac felt for his son was _his_ problem to deal with. He didn’t want Lucas to be afraid of everything just because he was. Besides, it felt rude to talk about Lucas like he couldn’t hear them when he was _obviously_ paying attention to the conversation. “And for the record,” he said, turning his attention back to his dad, “a drop attack is a myoclonic-astatic seizure, which means his body jerks and then he goes completely limp. He’s fallen down stairs having drop attacks before. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what could happen to him if he had one near a pool.”

“Myo-what?”

Courfeyrac glared at his father. “Did you read _any_ of the stuff I sent you and Mom? I get that you want to be a part of our lives, but you’re going to have to put in a little effort to understand what’s going on, Dad.”

“You’re not going to help anyone understand if you if you go around talking like a medical textbook,” his dad snapped.

“I don’t really have a choice on the matter, do I?” he said. “This is my life now. This is Lucas’s life now, and it’s important to both of us to have the words to talk about it. If you can’t take the effort to learn a few simple terms, to understand what’s going on in our lives, than I don’t have the energy to make you a part of my life. It’s not my job to educate you!”

“Hugo, that is—”

“You know what?” he said, pushing his chair back so he could stand up. “I think Lucas and I are done here now.”

He lifted Lucas out of his seat and carried him to the door, ignoring Lucas’s protests that he wasn’t done eating and that he didn’t want to leave yet. It was harder to ignore the way his throat and his eyes burned with unshed tears, harder to pretend that he felt more alone than ever knowing that his dad couldn’t give a damn about him or Lucas. His mom had spent the last month telling him over the phone that things would be easier to manage with more family around, but as of right now it just felt like everything was worse.

Once they were outside, Lucas wriggled out of his arms and ran back to the pool house, ignoring Courfeyrac when he hollered for him to slow down. Courfeyrac got to the pool house just in time to hear Lucas slam the door to his room. He closed the the front door and pressed his back against it, trying to summon his strength to go reason with a five-year-old. Today should have been a good day. He’d been given a freaking job after only one interview and he was working with people who were willing to accommodate him when he needed to take days off for Lucas. For the first time since this nightmare begin, it felt like he might have a support network.

But that didn’t mean his parents were involved in that support and that didn’t change the fact that his son was probably crying in his room right now.

Sometimes Courfeyrac wished he could just take a break and go out to a bar and get drunk and forget his responsibilities and forget that he was a dad and forget that his son had a neurological disorder and that he hadn’t seen the boy’s mother in five years.

Right now was one of those times.

But he wasn’t afforded that luxury. Lucas didn’t have anyone else and Courfeyrac couldn’t just take the night off, no matter how much he wanted to. He stood up straight, rubbed a hand over his face to try to compose himself, and then he went and knocked on Lucas’s door.

“Lucas?” he asked. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“I really want to talk to you, buddy,” he said. He rested his forehead against the door. He tried to give Lucas as much privacy and independence that could be afforded a five-year-old. With the endless barrage of doctors and tests and invasive questions over the last year, Courfeyrac wanted Lucas to feel that he still had control over something, even if that meant being shut out of his son’s room. At times like this, though, it really _sucked_. “Could you at least open the door? I promise I won’t come in.”

He took a deep breath and counted to ten and reminded himself that he was just going to make things worse if he barged in or lost his temper. He wasn’t a perfect parent, but he tried not to lose his temper when Lucas was already upset. He gave Lucas time to deliberate before adding a soft, “Please?”

He took a step back when he heard Lucas moving around in the room. A moment later, the door opened. The bedroom looked as though Lucas had tried to burrow under the covers of his bed when he’d shut himself in and his cheeks were wet with tears, but Lucas gave a stubborn sniff. He had his dinosaur friend—still unnamed after his afternoon with Jehan—clutched to his chest.

“We can talk, but you’re not allowed in,” Lucas said. He paused for a moment, then added, “Until bedtime because I still want you to tell me a story.”

Courfeyrac sat down in front of the doorway so he’d be on the same level with his son. “Okay,” he said. “Can you tell me why you ran away from me?”

Lucas lip quivered. “You carried me like a baby and I wasn’t done with my food and the chicken was really was good because it was better than you ever made it, but you didn’t care and you just took me away anyway and you didn’t stop even when I said please.”

“I’m really sorry about all of that, buddy,” he said. “I should have listened to you when you tried to talk to me. I'll try to do better next time, okay?”

“And I didn’t like it the way you and Grandpa were talking and he said bad words.”

Courfeyrac nodded. He thought that would be part of it. “What didn’t you like about the way Grandpa and I were talking?”

“He wasn’t being nice to you and Miss Linda said that grown ups are supposed to talk nice to their kids and even though you’re a grown up too, you told me that you were Grandpa’s kid the same way that I’m your kid and he wasn’t being nice and I don’t think he likes me.”

Courfeyrac wished he could reassure Lucas that his grandfather did like him, but he didn’t know if he honestly could. His mom, he knew, felt some sort of stirring of maternal affection for him and Lucas, but his dad didn’t even seem to care. He’d never liked Charlotte, Lucas’s mom, and he had always acted like Lucas was somehow less because of her. And now with the epilepsy…well, Courfeyrac was pretty sure his son’s condition would be attributed to “bad breeding” by his father.

“Sometimes Grandpa isn’t very nice,” Courfeyrac said. “But that’s not your fault, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Was Grandpa mean to you because of me?”

It wasn’t hard to see why Lucas had made that leap. His dad had been acting like a jerk when they’d been talking about Lucas.

“No,” he said, confident that he could at least reassure his son about this. “Grandpa and I haven’t gotten along very well for a very long time—long before you were even born. You are the very most important person to me, Lucas, and even if Grandpa isn’t nice to either of us, I will always love you.”

Lucas nodded, but he was frowning.

“Is something on your mind, buddy?”

Lucas shook his head and Courfeyrac decided not to press the issue. Enough had been unsettled tonight. “Well, if you change your mind, you can always talk to me about anything. Now I know I took you away from dinner. Are you still hungry?”

Lucas nodded.

“What if we had some chicken nuggets and watched a movie before bed?”

“Dinosaur chicken nuggets?” Lucas asked.

The dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets were more expensive, but Courfeyrac had splurged on them today when he’d stopped by the grocery store after his interview. “Of course dinosaur chicken nuggets,” he said.

Lucas’s bright smile was enough to ease most of the hurt from dinner with his parents.

* * *

 

Getting Lucas to bed that night was a bit of a nightmare. The excitement—and apprehension—of being in a new home coupled with the emotional upheaval of dinner meant that Lucas was too wired to go to bed easily. Their bedtime routine—which Courfeyrac had perfected over the last five years through many, _many_ nights of trial and error—took well over an hour.

It normally took fifteen minutes.

But Lucas was restless and antsy and he balked at taking his medication— “It makes me feel funny,” Lucas whined, and Courfeyrac sympathized but he still had to insist that his son took his medicine—and then Lucas balked about brushing his teeth and then he didn’t have the _right_ pajamas because they didn’t have dinosaurs on them and insisted on opening every box in his room to find his dinosaur pajamas. Their usual one picture book at bedtime somehow turned into _four_ and even after Courfeyrac had tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, Lucas wandered out of bed another half-dozen times because he needed water or a toy or because his room was too cold and then too hot.

By the end of it all, Courfeyrac was _exhausted_. It wasn’t just that Lucas was being difficult tonight—he’d tell anyone who asked that he had the _best_ kid ever but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little pain in the neck on occasion—but Courfeyrac had been running himself ragged lately. He’d spent the last week packing up his old apartment and the last three months since he was fired from his old school working double shifts at the Applebee’s where he waited tables in the summer. He hated waiting tables because his wages were lousy and he had to play the kiss ass to get decent tips half the time and a good portion of his paycheck went to paying for Lucas’s daycare when he’d rather stay home and take care of his son for free by himself. His manager, at least, let him take home extra food from the kitchen so he was able to put a decent meal on the table at least a few times a week.

But for the last three months, his nights had been spent looking over his bank accounts and his bills from the hospital and his budget and worrying how he was going to feed Lucas and pay for his medication now that they were uninsured. His nightly fretting over finances was always punctuated with trips to Lucas’s bedroom to make sure he was still okay, still breathing, still with him because Lucas was all Courfeyrac had at this point and Courfeyrac worried every time that a seizure struck that this one would somehow take his son from him. And when Courfeyrac finally went to bed each night, he usually lay awake for another hour or two, more worry and anxiety washing over him.

Tonight was the first night in nearly a year where Courfeyrac’s worries seemed to be less instead of more. He and Lucas had a roof over their heads—he’d been on the verge of being evicted from his last place, which was a large part of the reason he’d decided to move back with his parents—and his parents’ were letting him stay here rent and utility free, saving him nearly a thousand dollars a month if not more. He was employed again—this time at a school where he already had a friend and a support network—and he was eligible for medical benefits again. Lucas’s latest anti-seizure medication was working and now he had a way to _pay_ for the medication. Being this close to his parents was certainly a drawback, but it was well worth everything else that seemed to be going right for a change.

The feeling of this weight being lifted made him feel more exhausted—as though now that he was finally secure somewhere, all the sleepless nights were catching up with him all at once. He really wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch and dick around on social media for a few hours before he fell asleep, but his house was still in boxes. His worries were less than they had been, but he still had responsibilities.

Courfeyrac rubbed his hand over his face, thinking how nice it would be to finally go to sleep tonight, and he set to work in the kitchen, opening boxes and drawers and cabinets and trying to figure where it was best to put everything. His parents’ pool house hadn’t been lived in for any length of time since Courfeyrac was in high school when his sister, Josie, had crashed there for a semester after being temporarily booted from school after failing too many classes. (Josie also openly and readily acknowledged that she only went to college in the first place to find a husband, so academics were never her priority, and she was now married to a very successful business owner.) But it didn’t appear that she left anything useful in the pool house—or at least not in the kitchen. She’d left a collection of trashy romance novels and rom-com DVDs in the living room (none of which would be approved by their mother) and he was sure he’d enjoy them on his sleepless nights.

But the lack of hand-me-down kitchen supplies meant that he could set up the kitchen the way he wanted.

He’d opened all the boxes and was starting to make sense of the mess when he heard a knock at the front door. He saw from the window his mother was standing outside with a plate of cookies. He considered for a moment ignoring her, but he knew her too well. Those cookies were her version of a peace offering and he’d look childish and petulant for refusing her.

Courfeyrac opened the door but he didn’t let her in. “I don’t want to argue,” he said.

“And I didn’t come here to argue,” she said. She held out the cookies. “I made your favorite—chocolate mint.”

They were his favorite. Chocolate cookies with melted Andes mints swirled on top. He took the plate from her and wondered if it was ethical for him to eat all the cookies and not save any for Lucas. It wasn’t like his son would _know_ he’d be missing out on the cookies…

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Lucas is asleep,” Courfeyrac said. “We need to keep it quiet.”

He stepped aside to let her in.

“I’m calling the landscaper first thing in the morning,” she said while he cleared a place for them both at the kitchen table.

He looked up at her, waiting for her to explain the significance of calling the landscaper first thing in the morning.

“I need a recommendation from him about someone to put the fence up around the pool,” she explained. “I won’t have someone ruining the landscaping if I don’t have to, but your dad and I talked, and we want the fence up as soon as possible. I…I’m sorry we didn’t think to do it before you moved in.”

His mother rarely apologized for things, not even when she was undeniably in the wrong. Courfeyrac understood the significance of her words. “Thank you.”

She sighed. “You’ve had a year to adjust to all of this, you know. Your dad and I—we’re still learning about all of this stuff. You need to be patient with us. This is still new to us.”

“But it’s _not_ new,” he said. “You were the first person I called after Lucas had that first seizure. You’ve had just as long as I’ve had to learn about this.”

“If I recall,” she said flatly, “you called home for our family medical history to find out if there was anything like this in our family.”

“And if _I_ recall,” he said, “you snapped at me for implying that any sort of ‘abnormality’ came from your side of the family, so I don’t think you’ve got the moral high ground on this one, Mom.”

“Hugo, I hadn’t heard from you in _months_ and then you call me up demanding to know if there was a history of seizures in our family—you were so aggressive about it. What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know—maybe not yell at me for it? I was _scared_ , Mom. My son had just had a seizure!”

“I know what it’s like to have a sick child—that doesn’t excuse your attitude.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your kids always got better. I don’t have that guarantee for Lucas. Look, I’m sorry that I wasn’t scared the right way for you back then, but I don’t have the luxury of breaking down emotionally! Lucas needs me to be strong for him—I’m all he has!”

“Not anymore,” she said. “He has—you both have—your dad and me.”

“Dad doesn’t care. He made that abundantly clear over dinner.”

“You always think the worst of him.”

“Well, he’s never given me any reason to expect any different from him.”

“He’s your father. He cares about you just as much as you care about Lucas and it hurts him when you act like he doesn’t.”

“If he cares, he’s got a funny way of showing it. You, at least, have read the PDFs I sent you, but did he even look at them? Does he even want me and Lucas here, or is that all your doing?”

“Your dad and I invited you here together,” she said. “We want you here and I don’t how to make you see that. What do you need us to do for you to realize that we’re here for you?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You had all year to reach out to me to see how Lucas and I were doing, but even after I called you from the _hospital_ , you didn’t bother calling me back the next day to see if Lucas was even okay.”

“You made it abundantly clear to me that you didn’t want me or your father interfering in your life, Hugo. I didn’t think you’d answer my call. What did you want me to do?”

“Call anyway!” Courfeyrac said, unable to keep his frustration out of his voice. “You’re the parent—you’re supposed to do the right thing even if I don’t want you to! It’s why I make Lucas brush his teeth or take his medication even when he makes it clear that he doesn’t want to.”

“You’ll be surprised how much easier it is to reason with a five-year-old than it is with your adult children,” she snapped. “We tried to help you out when Lucas was born—”

He rolled his eyes. “You tried to make me marry Charlotte!”

“If you’d married her, maybe she wouldn’t have left!”

He gaped at her, the shock of her words rendering him speechless. “Get out,” he said when he finally found his words again.

“Hugo, you can’t—”

“No,” he said. “That crossed a line and you know it, so get out.”

She reached out to touch his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. That was uncalled for.”

“It was a bit more than ‘uncalled for,’ Mom,” he said. “The morning I woke up and found Charlotte gone was one of _the worst_ days of my life and to suggest that it just wouldn’t have happened if I’d _married_ her—no, Mom, okay? I was twenty when Charlotte got pregnant and obviously neither of us were prepared for what was happening. If we’d gotten married, she still would have left, but it would have been my wife walking out on me, not my girlfriend. I don’t see how that would make it better.”

His mom gave another one of her snobbish sniffs. “And how was I supposed to know any of that if you never talked to me?”

“And how was I supposed to talk to you when you were never there when I was growing up?”

“Hugo—”

“No, Mom, I can’t just have this relationship with you now when you never bothered to build that relationship when I was little, okay? It doesn’t work like that!”

“You’re not doing much to help build that relationship now, though.”

“Mom—”

“We could both be doing better,” she said. “That’s why I invited you and Lucas to live here. I want a relationship with you—and I want a relationship with my grandson, Hugo. I’m trying to make an effort for you, but you need to meet me halfway.”

He sighed and sat back in his seat. “Meaning what?”

“I want to babysit Lucas,” she said.

“I don’t know—”

“I babysit for your sister when she and Richard go on cruises,” she said. “And I raised you and David and Josie—it’s not as though I’ve never dealt with five-year-olds before, and I’ve read those things you emailed me. I know what to do if he has one of his…one of his seizures. You can quiz me about it if you want. I want a relationship with you and your son, but I need you to let me make that happen.”

He knew a losing battle when he saw one. “So…what exactly are you thinking?”

“Let me watch him for a few hours this weekend,” she said. “I can feed him dinner and get him to bed and keep an eye on things while you go out. I’m sure you have things you could be doing—errands to run or having a night out for yourself and having adult conversation with someone for a change. I remember what it’s like having small children, Hugo. I’m sure you could use some time to yourself.”

“I’ll…I’ll think about it,” he said.

“That’s all I ask,” she said, standing up. “It really is good to have you home, Hugo. Try not to stay up to late. You look like you could use some sleep.”

“Right,” he said. He stood up to let her out and hoped that inviting his mom into his and Lucas's lives wasn't massive mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to get this chapter up in almost exactly one month and I'm quite pleased with myself :D As of right now, it looks like I'll have the next chapter done some time in the beginning-ish of April.
> 
> Special thanks to all of you who took the time to kudos or comment or drop by on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com). I love hearing from you, so don't be a stranger!


	3. Chapter 3

Combeferre wasn’t entirely surprised to find Eponine loitering around his waiting room when he came out to close everything up for the evening. She came by every two weeks with the women and children from the local women’s shelter to help mediate with some of the women who were—understandably—uncomfortable working closely with men but still needed medical care for themselves or their kids. He and Eponine had met when he was still doing his residency and she was just starting her work with the battered women’s shelter and they’d only grown closer when Combeferre opened his own family practice three years ago. He considered her a friend.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked. “I thought for sure you’d be gone by now.” It was a Saturday evening, the rest of his staff had already left for the evening, and Eponine was far more social than he was. She usually had plans for the weekend and she always asked him to come along if it was something that she thought he’d enjoy even though he almost always declined.

“I hung back to talk with Marie about her daughter—”

“Is she worried about Laura? Because I can—”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Eponine said. “Just new mama worries. Anyway, I also wanted to check that you were still okay doing that informational meeting about vaccines at the shelter?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Is next Saturday good?”

“Saturday’s fine unless you’d be okay doing it on a weeknight?” She must have seen the hesitation on his face, because she didn’t pause to let him answer. “Look, I know how busy you are but we’ve got a few women who haven’t vaccinated their kids and it was bad enough keeping their kids away from the newborns but luckily a lot of those kids aren’t interested in babies, but a woman just came in with her six year old who has an autoimmune disorder and she’s thinking about going back to her dickbag husband because she’s worried about her daughter’s health if we can’t get those other kids vaccinated.”

Combeferre leaned back against the reception desk in the waiting room and groaned. “Anti-vaxxers are going to be the death of me,” he said. “I could probably get a powerpoint set up by Tuesday?”

She grinned him. “I don’t know what we did without you,” she said. “I’ll see what we can get done in the way of fliers to put up.”

“Do you have the budget for that?” He’d worked with the shelter enough to know that resources were spread thin and that they usually didn’t have extra money to print up fliers and posters—especially for “extra” programs like the health seminars he did for them on occasion. “I can stop by the store on my way home and get some poster board and markers for you.”

“If you liked kissing girls, I would totally kiss you right now.”

“I appreciate your self-control.”

“Although,” she said slowly, dragging out the word.

“Although what?”

“Now that your next Saturday is open, you should probably, I don’t know, go out and enjoy yourself for a change. There’s a super hot family lawyer who would love to take you out. I showed him your picture. He’s totally into you.”

“Not interested.”

“You haven’t even seen him!” Eponine protested. She pulled out her phone and pulled up a picture of the lawyer in question. “Come on. Admit it. He’s hot.”

“He’s hot,” he conceded, “but I live with a lawyer. I have no interested in dating one.”

“Okay, yeah, but Enjolras is like some sort of super lawyer, isn’t he? Super intense and has a stick up his ass, right? This guy isn’t like that at _all_.”

“No lawyers,” Combeferre said.

“And no doctors and no social workers and no pharmacists and no grocery store managers,” Eponine said. “Eventually, you’re going to have to say yes to one of the men I’m trying to set you up with.”

“Why is that, anyway?”

“Because whenever anyone around you talks about their significant other, you get this maudlin look on your face and you start sighing dramatically—”

“I do not,” he protested.

Eponine ignored him. “If you weren’t interested in romance, it’d be one thing. I wouldn’t have a cache of pictures of hot gay men on my phone for you, but it’s obvious that you want that in your life—and what’s the shame in that?”

“Is this because you’re still mooning over that translator fellow?” Combeferre asked. “The one who knows nothing about politics? Because I’m not going to let you play matchmaker just because you’re unhappy with your love life.”

“Marius is beside the point,” she said. “This has nothing to do with him and me. This has to do with _you_. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend?”

“When did we become the sort of friends who talk about each others’ exes?”

“Since you got drunk at my birthday party two months ago and sat in the corner bemoaning your single existence. You start complaining, I start interfering. That’s the rule.”

“I never agreed to that.”

She mimicked playing a very small violin and he rolled his eyes.

“I was in a bad place at your birthday,” he said. The not-quite-relationship he’d been in and out of for more than a year had finally crashed and burned—as he always knew it would—and he got emotional when he drank. Which was the prime reason why he didn’t drink often. “I’m fine now.”

“But you’re not fine,” she said. Before he could insist that she was wrong, she continued, “I know you’re not bothered that you and what’s-his-name called things off—and good riddance, because he was _awful_ for you, Combeferre—but I see you when you talk to people about _their_ relationships—well, the happy ones, at least—and I can see how much you want that. What’s the problem in admitting that to yourself?”

Combeferre dragged his hand through his hair because this really wasn’t the sort of conversation he wanted to kick off his Saturday night with. “I don’t talk about stuff like this, okay? You know that because you’ve never heard me bring it up except for when I was drunk at your birthday party, so I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the subject.”

“But _why_ don’t you talk about it?” she asked.

“Because I don’t,” he said. “Look, I’ve known I was gay since I started high school and that was twenty years ago now. Things were different then. You didn’t talk about being gay back then, at least not where I grew up, and by now it’s habit. I don’t talk about my romantic life.”

“Times have changed,” Eponine said, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a stubborn look and she was dangerous when she was stubborn. “No one really cares about who you date. It’s okay to talk about it.”

“But I don’t _like_ talking about it,” he said. “Every man I’ve ever been with will tell you the same thing—I’m emotionally distant. I’m not good at talking about my feelings and my partners’ feelings, so it doesn’t happen.”

“Well the only way that’s going to change is if you _start_ talking about it,” she said. “And if you’re uncomfortable doing that with a boyfriend, then you can at least talk about these things with me or Enjolras.”

He snorted. “Enjolras and I have more important things to talk about than my love life—or lack thereof.”

“No wonder you’re both single,” she muttered. “Look, Combeferre, your life is your life and I respect the hell out of you, but if having a romantic partner is something you want in the long run, then you’re going to need to get over your hang ups—and the best way to do that is to _practice_. So find a cute man and take him on a few dates and learn how to really _talk_ to a person. And if you can’t do that for yourself, then I’ll do it for you.”

“You really don’t need to do that.”

She gave him an unyielding look. “If you haven’t found yourself a date by Tuesday,” she said, “I’m setting you up with the hot lawyer.”

“Is that a threat?”

She gathered up her bag and her cardigan from the check-in desk in the waiting room and kissed him on the cheek. “Think of it more as a promise.”

Combeferre groaned as she left because as good of a friend as he considered her, he _really_ didn’t need her getting involved in his life like this. As he finished tidying up, he wondered if there was any way he could get out of this. He was thirty-four and he was perfectly capable of finding dates if he wanted them. Which he didn’t. Because he was _bad_ at relationships. He hated feeling vulnerable and talking about anything more emotionally complex than picking a restaurant to eat at left him feeling uncomfortable. Things that interested him rarely interested other people and the things that seemed to interest other people always seemed to bore him—and as bad as he was at talking about emotions, he was even worse at feigning interest.

And he liked his life. He didn’t need anyone else making it more complicated. He owned and ran a small family medical practice and he had a small staff—a nurse and a receptionist, neither of whom were as nosy or pushy as Eponine, which he was incredibly grateful for at the moment—and he was involved in plenty of volunteer work on the side. He shared a small house with his best friend and he kept busy. He didn’t need a relationship. He didn’t need someone to hold hands with or to go see cheesy movies with or someone to take to the museums Enjolras refused to go to.

No, he definitely didn’t need someone like that. Not at all.

He locked up his office and headed out to his car. Who was he kidding? Maybe he didn’t _need_ someone like that, but he certainly wanted it.

He just didn’t want Eponine to do it for him.

Which gave him a handful of days to figure this out for himself before Eponine interfered.

On his way home, he stopped at the store to get the poster board and markers he promised Eponine. He thought for a moment of using the poster board as leverage—refuse to give it to her until she promised not to try to set him up with every gay or bisexual man she’d ever met—but that was petty. Besides, it was in everyone’s interest that as many mothers as possible staying at the shelter came to his meeting about vaccines because the last thing anyone needed would be an outbreak of something deadly at the shelter. It’d be unethical to withhold supplies Eponine needed to spread the word.

He headed straight for the the school supply aisle at the store. Most of the shelves were picked over, leaving only folders and notebooks in plain, ugly colors, but he figured poster boards couldn’t be in too high of demand right now. Surely it was too early in the year for students to need posters for projects. Combeferre found the poster board easily enough, but wondered if it would be better to get plain white poster board or a neon colored one. The neon poster came in a pack of six, which would give Eponine extra poster board if she needed it later, but the colors were garrish.

Garrish colors might be more eye catching though…

He sighed and grabbed the neon colored posters and a white poster, just in case. Eponine wouldn’t mind the options and he was sure she’d find a use for all of it.

As he debated the virtues of normal cardstock posters versus the thicker, cardboard-like posters, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out. Enjolras—his best friend of nearly twenty years and his current roommate. “What’s up?” he asked as he answered the phone.

“Are you still at work?”

“Already left,” he said. “I had to stop by the store to pick up some things for the shelter. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

“No, no, I’m good,” Enjolras said. “It’s just—I know it’s my turn for dinner tonight, but something’s come up at work. We just got a huge bit of evidence handed to us for that trial and I’m going to be here for hours still so you’re going to have to fend for yourself.”

“That’s fine,” he said. It was nice having company for dinner, but Combeferre had bailed on Enjolras enough times when his patients had emergencies that he didn’t take it personally. “Want me to save some leftovers for you?”

“Would you?” Enjolras asked. “I’ll be lucky if I’m home before midnight and we’re ordering pizza but it’s from that place down the road that I’m 99% sure doesn’t ever clean out the grease traps in their oven and I don’t care that all their ingredients are organic and fair trade if the entire pizza is swimming in grease.”

Enjolras continued listing the failures of this particular pizza place and Combeferre turned down the aisle with the markers and other writing utensils, only half-paying attention to what Enjolras was saying. He stopped paying attention entirely when he spotted the _remarkably_ attractive young man, who was standing on his tiptoes trying to reach a box of notebooks on the top shelf. His fingers scrabbled against it, but it was clear that he was a touch too short to reach it.

“I’ve got to go,” Combeferre said, cutting Enjolras off. He hung up before Enjolras could protest and he slipped his phone in his pocket before getting the box down for the other man.

“Thanks,” the other man said before doing a double take at Combeferre. “Uhm, hi.”

Something about his face expressed interest and Combeferre took that as a good sign. At least he hoped it was a good sign. Joly, one of the RNs at the hospital where Combeferre had done his residency, always joked that Combeferre had a broken gaydar. He was terrible at telling if other men were interested in him or just friendly. Still, he smiled and the other man flushed a little. Flushing _had_ to be a good sign. “Anything else I can reach for you?”

The shorter man laughed. “Unfortunately not, though I could have used you give minutes ago with the dry erase markers.” He gestured at the contents of his cart, most of which were school and office supplies. “Any chance you do house calls? I’ve got some shelves I can barely reach back home.”

“I’ll see if I can squeeze you in. Back to school shopping?” he asked, nodding at the cart. If the man had kids, then there was a good chance he was already in a relationship and Combeferre was probably just making an idiot of himself.

“Most of it’s for me actually,” he said. “I teach over at Copland High and I need to stock up my classroom before school starts next week. The safety scissors and the Captain America folder, though, those are for my son. He’s starting kindergarten this year.”

He tilted his chin up a little as he spoke of his son, as though he were unbearably proud of the fact that his child was starting school, and it was impossible to miss the affection in his voice.

Combeferre had worked with enough shitty parents in his career that he had to admit seeing the proud papa act was incredibly attractive.

Even if it did mean Combeferre’s chances with him were getting smaller by the moment.

“That’s a great age,” Combeferre said. He’d gotten a lot of five and six year olds in his office over the last month coming in for their booster shots and immunizations. He liked working with kids at that age. They were so curious about the world around them and Combeferre loved explaining the science behind their booster shots and vaccines to them.

“Are you a parent, then?” the other man asked, hope in his voice.

“No,” Combeferre said, “but I work with kids a lot.”

“Ah.”

Combeferre hesitated for a moment. Odds were high that this man was in a relationships—hell, odds were high that he wasn’t even into men—but fear of Eponine’s ‘promise’ pushed Combeferre’s fear of embarrassment aside. “I know this is unexpected,” he said, “and you’ve probably got to get home, but would you like to grab a coffee or something?”

“Oh, uhm, I—”

Seeing the flustered look on the man’s face, Combeferre immediately backtracked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. I swear I normally don’t try to pick up men at grocery stores.”

But the man laughed—and it wasn’t a mocking laugh. “It’s been a while since anyone has tried to pick me up anywhere,” he admitted, looking pleased. He checked the time on his phone. “You know what? Why not? I’ve still go an hour before I can go back home without my mother freaking out on me.”

“Your mother?” Combeferre asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“There’s a cafe just up the street,” Combeferre said. “Why don’t you tell me over a drink?”

“Sounds good,” he said, smiling. “I’m Courf, by the way. Figure you should at least know my name if you’re going to ply me with caffeine.”

“Adrien,” Combeferre said, using his first name because it seemed weird to introduce himself to his date—was this a date?—by his last name.

They chatted while they each finished their shopping and by the time they reached the coffee shop, Combeferre was certain that he’d made a mistake. Not that he regretted having this handsome stranger for company, but somewhere between the grocery store and the cafe, Combeferre remembered that he was awful at small talk and he had no idea to hold a conversation with Courf. Luckily, it seemed that Courf was more than capable of carrying on the conversation, and he didn’t seem to think it odd that he was doing most of the work.

“It’s so weird being back here,” he said, stepping into the coffee shop as Combeferre held the door open for him. “I used to come here all the time when I was in high school, but it was a frozen yogurt place back then.”

“You grew up here, then?”

“Oh, yeah,” Courf explained, stepping up to the counter to get a view of the menu. “I left town for college and then got a job in Rochester, but it seems that fate has brought me back here—hence my mom babysitting my son for the night.”

“Right,” Combeferre said. “Have you been back in town long?”

He shook his head and then ordered the sweetest drink on the menu. He was about to pay when Combeferre stepped forward. “It’s on me,” he said. He may be out of practice when it came to dating, but he knew enough to offer to pay for Courf’s drink.

“I just moved back in town this week,” Courf explained while they waited for the barista to make their drinks. “I’m staying with my parents for a bit—just till I can get settled and everything, you know—which, again, hence my mom babysitting.”

“Seems convenient to have her around,” Combeferre said and Courf made a sort of humming noise that indicated he didn’t quite agree. Unwilling to broach what might be an uncomfortable subject, Combeferre didn’t remark on it.

Once they had their drinks, Combeferre headed toward his usual table in the corner, but Courf grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward the door that let out to a small patio.

“It’s beautiful outside,” he said. “We shouldn’t waste it inside.”

Combeferre obliged him and pulled the door to the patio open for him. Courf jumped back a step when a brightly colored moth swooped in front of his face before fluttering towards a nearby lamp.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Did you see that butterfly? It was huge!”

“It was a moth, actually,” Combeferre said.

Courf looked at him skeptically as he took a seat at an empty table away from the lamp and the offending moth. “Adrien, it was yellow and pink. Moths are ugly. It had to be a butterfly.”

“I’ll have you know there are plenty of pretty moths out there,” he said. “That was probably a Rosy Maple Moth—yellow bodies and pink, yellow, and white wings. They’re not all that uncommon to this area. I’m surprised you’ve never seen one before since you grew up here.”

Courf was looking at him like he’d never seen—or heard—anyone quite like him before and Combeferre could have kicked himself. He had a bad habit of doing things like this—knowing way to much about subjects that other people didn’t really care about and being able to talk about them at length. Even Enjolras, who was without a doubt his best friend, had a hard time dealing with moth talk.

“Were you able to just identify that moth by _name_?” Courf asked, lips twitching.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “It’s a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Courf said. He was smiling now, almost laughing, but Combeferre didn’t get the sense that Courf was laughing _at_ him. “It’s cool. My son is into animals and dinosaurs and bugs in a big way these days, so I’ll get extra dad points if I come home with cool moth facts tonight.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“A little, maybe,” Courf said, “but a hobby is a hobby. I read trashy romance novels for fun, so I don’t think hobbies are supposed to make sense. But tell me more about moths. I thought the difference between them and butterflies was the whole coloring thing.”

“A common misconception,” Combeferre said before launching into a speech about the actual differences between moths and butterflies and also their similarities. He would have worried that Courf was bored with him, except he kept asking questions. He seemed genuinely interested, even if it was just to impress his son.

“Do you know why moths do that fly towards the light thing?” Courf asked. “Because I’ve always wondered about that too. My son thinks it’s because lights are magnetic—but he’s five, so we’ll just forgive him for that one.”

“No one actually knows why moths fly into the light,” Combeferre said. “The leading theory has to do with something called transverse orientation, which is a way of navigating by celestial light like the moon. So if the moth stays at a certain angle to the moon when it flies, it can fly in a straight line. Because the moon is so far away, any change in the angle isn’t noticeable—like when you’re driving at night and it looks like the moon is following you or that you’re following it. But sometimes, moths might orient themselves off artificial lights—like street lamps—and because it’s so close, the angle between the light source and the moth changes much quicker—and much more noticeably—so the moth will turn back to the light to try to reorient itself and then it just sort of ends up flying in circles around the lamp.”

“I’m not sure any of that made sense,” Courf said, chuckling to himself, “but I’ll take your word for it. So other than moth-watching, what do you do with your time?”

“I’m a doctor—”

“Oooo, a doctor,” Courf said with a smile. “Color me impressed.”

Combeferre chuckled. “I opened a family practice here a couple of years ago, so I spend most of my time there.”

“Very cool,” Courf said. He cocked his head to the side. “Your last name isn’t Sorenson, is it?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Apparently my parents are friends with some Sorensons and their son just opened up his own family practice and my mom wanted me to take my son to see him.” Courf shrugged. “Just thought it’d be a funny coincidence if you were. So what brought you to New Castle?”

“I actually did my residency at the hospital here,” he said. “And I fell in love with the area.”

“It’s a great place,” Courf said. “I loved growing up here. But what made you want to go into medicine?”

“I like helping people,” Combeferre said. “And having my own practice—it’s been great. I partner with some of the local shelters to get health care to people who otherwise wouldn’t have access.”

Courf leaned forward. “That’s awesome. How did you get involved with that?”

Combeferre explained that during his residency he noticed that the patients coming from the outskirts of town usually had inadequate insurance—or even no insurance—and were much more likely to have to come in for emergency services for illnesses or injuries that wouldn’t have been that bad if they’d seen someone right away for it—but the lack of insurance prevented them. Courf then complained about the effects of gentrification in New Castle over the last twenty years and talked about how impressed he was that Combeferre was actually trying to help the people who’d been pushed out of New Castle instead of just ignoring them. (There was a certain air of bitterness in Courf’s voice as he spoke, as though he were personally offended by what gentrification had done to New Castle, but Combeferre thought perhaps it’d be better not to ask.)

With a little more prompting from Courf, Combeferre told him about the vaccine seminar he was giving at the women’s shelter on Tuesday and they spent at least fifteen minutes ranting about the anti-vaccine movement. Courf was quick and clever and his observations about anti-vaxxers were on point and filled with indignation and on more than one occasion, he made Combeferre laugh about the absurdity of it all—and laughter was not his normal reaction to anti-vaxxers. (He had to admit, though, that laughing was preferable to wanting to pull out his own hair, which was his go-to reaction when it came to this whole mess.) In fact, he found that talking to Courf was easy—perhaps easier than talking to Enjolras was and he’d known Enjolras since he was fourteen. Maintaining conversation with strangers was something he worked at—and worked at hard since being able to put patients at ease was a _big_ part of his job—and he could carry conversations well when he needed to, but it never felt this effortless. And he’d certainly never laughed this hard.

Combeferre didn’t realize how much time passed as they both sipped at their drinks until his phone buzzed with a message from Enjolras checking to see if he was okay since he’d hung up so abruptly without following up with him.

He checked the time, surprised to see that they’d been talking for well over an hour, and quickly sent Enjolras a message saying that everything was fine. “Sorry about that,” he said to Courf, setting his phone down on the table. “My roommate was just checking in with me. I didn’t realize we’d been talking for so long—it’s been more than an hour! ”

“An hour? Really?” Courf chuckled. He laughed easily and Combeferre liked that. “Wow. I guess time does fly when you’re having fun. I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called to find out where I am. I should probably get going. My son doesn’t like going to bed without me there to tuck him in.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre said reluctantly. “Yeah, I should get going too.”

“But I had a good time,” Courf said. He grabbed Combeferre’s phone off the table, quickly typed something in, and slid it back towards Combeferre. “You’ve got my number now, so don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Combeferre said. He could feel his face flush and hoped it was dark enough that Courf couldn’t tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies if the conversation between Combeferre and Courfeyrac felt weird or stilted. It was while wrestling with this chapter that I realized my inability to make small talk in real life has led to an inability to write small talk in my fiction--but now that Combeferre and Courfeyrac have met, we can move on from the stupid small talk and move onto more important things...like flirting. Also, Rosy Maple Moths are awesome and you should all go google them.
> 
> The next chapter should be up in about a month, but until then, you should all come say hello over on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

By Tuesday, Courfeyrac had yet to hear back from Adrien and was beginning to chalk the whole thing up as a lost cause, which just made him feel like a complete idiot when he thought about how he’d coyly added his contact info to the other man’s phone. It’d been a while since Courfeyrac had been in any sort of proper relationship—he didn’t know many people who wanted to jump into a relationship with a single parent—but he’d had a couple of flings and hook-ups so he knew his flirting wasn’t _completely_ rusty. He’d been flirting and Adrien had been flirting _back_ , but maybe Courfeyrac had misread the situation. Maybe Adrien was just being polite.

Courfeyrac groaned at the thought.

“Okay,” Jehan said, turning away from the poster he was hanging on the wall. They were in his classroom, wasting time and catching up before they had to split up for department meetings. Lucas was off with one of the art teachers, a friend of Jehan’s called Grantaire, making pictures to hang up in Courfeyrac’s classroom. (Courfeyrac had insisted that he could keep an eye on Lucas while he and Jehan talked, not wanting Lucas to be a burden on any of his coworkers, but Grantaire had laughed and said something about always being willing to encourage a budding artist and that surely Courfeyrac deserved some grown up conversation for a change and Jehan had assured him that Lucas would be perfectly fine with Grantaire and the matter had been settled.) “That’s about the fifth time you’ve groaned like that since you got to work today. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s stupid.”

“If it’s something enough to be stupid then it’s not nothing,” Jehan said. “So what is it?”

“I dunno,” he said. He spun his cell phone on the surface of Jehan’s desk. “I kind of met someone over the weekend.”

Surprisingly, Jehan rolled his eyes. “Of course you’ve met someone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve lived here pretty much my _entire_ life and have had a total of three dead-end relationships and your first week back, you meet someone—a good someone, if the way you’ve been sighing and groaning and carrying on is any indication.”

“Your love life can’t be that miserable.”

“Courf, my last boyfriend ended up being a petty criminal who was dealing drugs to my students. Trust me, I have run the full gambit of awful boyfriends.”

He winced sympathetically. “A drug dealer, Jehan? Really?”

“He was very pretty,” Jehan said. “You know how I feel about pretty men. But what’s going on with you and this person you ‘kind of’ met over the weekend?”

“At this rate,” Courfeyrac said, “probably nothing. We met on Saturday while my mom was watching Lucas—I told you about that, right?”

“How are Jeanine and Michael anyway?” Jehan asked, referring to Courfeyrac’s parents by their first names, which he’d done since they were sixteen when he discovered how much it annoyed them.

“Same as always,” he said. “Anyway, I met this guy while I was out and he took me out for coffee.”

“Well, that’s a good start.”

“That’s what I thought, but now it’s Tuesday and I haven’t heard from him at all.”

“Why don’t _you_ text him?”

“Because I’m an idiot and didn’t get his number,” he said. “I thought I was being coy and flirty by just giving him mine, but it turns out I was just being stupid. I must’ve looked like I was throwing myself at him. Stupid and hopeless and desperate.”

“You don’t know that,” Jehan said. “How old would you say he was?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer my question.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I dunno. Older than us but not too much older—not like old enough to be my dad older. Maybe ten years older than us, tops?” Honestly, Adrien was good-looking enough and charming enough and witty enough that Courfeyrac didn’t really care how old he was.

“Who’s ten years older than you?” Grantaire asked, returning with Lucas, who ran up to Courfeyrac with to show off his drawings.

“The man Courf met over the weekend,” Jehan said.

Lucas laid out his pictures on Jehan’s desk and Courfeyrac pulled his son onto his lap and let Lucas tell him all about his pictures.

“And Mr. R let me use his special crayons—they come in a case and he has lots of colors, even more colors than I have in my big crayon box—and none of his were broked or anything! And we drawed dinosaurs,” Lucas pointed out some colorful lizards scribbled onto the page, though one had clearly been drawn by Grantaire even if Lucas had been the one to color him, “and Mr. R helped me draw a brachiosaurus just like my dinosaur friend and he showed me how to make shadows under them so it looks like they’re actually standing there and then I drawed this picture of us for you to put on the wall here and then I drawed this picture of Grandma out with flowers ‘acause on Saturday she told me all about how much she likes flowers and I liked it so I drawed it for her!” As Lucas chattered, Courfeyrac rested his cheek against the back of Lucas’s head because it was hard to feel put out about some man not getting back to him when he still had Lucas.

“So what’s going on with this mystery man?” Grantaire askedJehan while Lucas babbled.

“It’s nothing,” Courfeyrac said.

But Jehan rolled his eyes and said, “He hasn’t texted or called Courf at all since they met on Saturday.”

Grantaire hissed in sympathy.

“But,” Jehan continued, “he’s a bit older than Courf and I—probably closer to your age, actually, R, from the sound of it—and I’m thinking if the mystery man doesn’t date a lot then perhaps he’s unfamiliar with normal texting protocol and that Courf shouldn’t give up hope just yet.”

“You’re making this too complicated,” Grantaire said. “Did you try texting him?”

“Courf doesn’t have his number,” Jehan said.

“Can we not talk about this in front of the tiny human?” Courfeyrac asked. Hoping to direct Lucas’s attention away from Jehan and Grantaire, Courfeyrac pointed to the florescent blue outline around some of the dinosaurs. “What’s this?”

“It’s a forcefield,” Lucas said.

“A forcefield against what?”

“From fire and meters and things so they don’t go ‘stinct.”

“Meters? Do you mean meteors?”

“That’s what I said,” Lucas said. “Meters.”

Courfeyrac snorted.

“All I’m saying,” Jehan said from across the room, “is that maybe you shouldn’t give up hope just yet. You’ve had a rough year—it’s about time something nice happened for you.”

“I got this job after one interview,” Courfeyrac said. “I think that maxed out my nice meter.”

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” Jehan said. “Maybe he’s intimidated by your charm and good looks.”

Courfeyrac snorted. He nudged Lucas off his lap and pointed him in the direction of Jehan’s bookshelf in the corner of the room. Lucas loved looking through books even if he couldn’t read yet and Courfeyrac wanted his son to be distracted for this conversation.

“It’s more likely he’s intimidated by the fact that I’m a dad and underwhelmed by the fact that I’m just a teacher.”

“Teaching is a very noble profession,” Jehan said.

Both Courfeyrac and Grantaire rolled their eyes.

“I’m pretty sure teachers are the only ones who think what we do is _noble_ ,” Grantaire said.

“And you _love_ being a teacher,” Jehan said. “Even when you were working at that awful school, you always told me how much you loved working with those kids.”

“I might love it,” Courfeyrac said. “But it’s not very prestigious—he was a doctor, for crying out loud. I’m lucky that I even _have_ a teaching job. I was supposed to be a lawyer!”

This time Jehan rolled his eyes. “Just because your parents wanted you to be a lawyer doesn’t mean that you were _supposed_ to be one.”

“Besides, if you want to hear about how much law school sucks,” Grantaire added, “go find Bahorel. He was in law school _forever_ before he decided to drop out and get some teaching credentials.”

Courfeyrac had met Bahorel, a man who rather resembled a lumberjack and taught world history and helped coach the football team, the day before during a staff meeting. When Jehan introduced him to Bahorel, he’d gotten the impression that perhaps there was something going on between the two men, but Jehan absolutely refused to talk about it when Courfeyrac had asked.

“I didn’t know he went to law school,” Courfeyrac said.

“That’s because he thinks law school was a soul sucking pit and tries to avoid talking about it,” Jehan said. “But regardless, if this mysterious doctor of yours is the sort of person who looks down on you for teaching, I very much doubt he’s the sort of person you want in your life to begin with. Honestly, that sounds like the sort of person your parents would want you to date.”

“He didn’t actually say he had a problem with teachers,” Courfeyrac said. “I just…I don’t know.”

Grantaire leaned back against a student desk. “You just made yourself feel like shit—”

“Careful around the kid, okay?” Courfeyrac said, casting a look at Lucas who was seated on the floor across the room, flipping through books. “He’ll repeat anything.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire said. “You made yourself feel…lousy because it’s easier to blame this other guy’s lack of interest on your job rather than something you said or did—or even just who you are. Trust me, I’ve walked this road _many_ times before and you’re not doing yourself any favors.”

Courfeyrac groaned. “I wasn’t really asking for a pep talk, all right?”

“Too bad,” Jehan said. “You’re getting one anyway. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

“People don’t consider themselves to be ‘lucky’ when they’re dating a single parent,” Courfeyrac said. “Usually the opposite, in fact.”

“When did he find out you’ve got a kid?” Grantaire asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Obviously if he found out you’ve got a kid _before_ you two did whatever over the weekend, then the kid thing isn’t an issue.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “You two don’t understand—it doesn’t matter how okay people seem about the kid thing to begin with, in the end, people don’t want to date single parents. No one likes playing second fiddle to a kid they didn’t help make.”

“Single parents date and get married and things all the time,” Jehan said.

“Yeah, well, that’s not how it’s worked out for me,” Courfeyrac said. “I haven’t been on a single date since Lucas started having seizures last year.”

Jehan gave him a look. “Why do I think that has more to do with the fact that you were a bit preoccupied with your son than anything to do with people not wanting to date single parents?”

“That’s beside the point,” Courfeyrac said.

“No,” Grantaire said. “I’m pretty sure that _is_ the point. Cut yourself some slack. You’re pretty much winning at the parenting thing and I’ve known you for less than a week and I already know Jehan is right—anyone would be lucky to find themselves in a relationship with you.”

Courfeyrac sighed and checked the clock. He had a department meeting in five minutes, which would thankfully spare of him of the pep talk that he didn’t want to hear. It’d be better just to wallow in self-pity for the day and then get over Adrien instead of dragging it out with pointless hope. “I’ve got to get to a meeting,” he said, standing up. “Are you cool watching Lucas or should I bring him with me?”

Rebecca Woolsey, the head of the history department, had taken a liking to Lucas and given blanket permission for him at attend all of their department meetings as long as he was quiet—and he usually was if he had a book or something to draw on or Courfeyrac’s phone to play with.

“He’ll be fine here,” Jehan said. “Your meeting should be done before mine starts. Go—and keep your chin up. Things can still work out.”

“I’ll believe it when it happens,” Courfeyrac said.

* * *

 

By the end of his vaccination presentation, Combeferre was certain that he had at least a few women convinced that all the bunk about vaccines being dangerous really was just bunk. He’d sent around a clipboard during the presentation to allow mothers with school-aged children to sign up for appointments before the school year started. A few women came up to him afterwards while he was putting away his computer to ask some pretty routine health questions and by the time Combeferre had finished with them, Eponine appeared at his side with the clipboard he’d sent around early.

As he’d hoped, several of the moms had signed up for appointments.

“It was a good presentation,” Eponine said. “Thank you _so much_ for doing this. You have no idea how much stuff like this helps.”

“Don’t mention it,” Combeferre said. He slipped the clipboard into the case with his laptop. “You know I’m happy to help.”

“Speaking of helping,” she said, “have you given any thought about this weekend? I still have that lawyer on standby.”

“I told you no lawyers.”

“And I told you you had to have an alternative date otherwise we were proceeding as planned with the lawyer.”

“Yes, well, maybe I have an alternative.”

A wicked grin crept over Eponine’s face. “Do tell.”

He quickly gave her a rundown of the situation from Saturday. “He gave me his number,” Combeferre said, “but I haven’t gotten back to him.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well for one, I have no idea what to say! And now it’s been so long, it’d be awkward to start up a conversation like this.”

“Exactly!” She shook her head. “Honestly, for as smart as you are, you’re kind of an idiot. Let me see your phone.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Fix your great big mistake, that’s what,” she said. She held out her hand and snapped her fingers twice. “Phone. Now please.”

“No, I’m not going to let you text him for me.”

“Combeferre, you forget that I put food on the table growing up by pickpocketing. Now give me your phone or I will take it from you.”

He sighed and handed over his phone.

“Good,” she said. “Now what’s his name?”

“Courf,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “His contact reads ‘Courf the Hot Coffee Guy.’”

“Confident,” Eponine said, “I like that.”

Combeferre watched as she pulled up Courf’s number and opened a text message.

“Don’t send anything embarrassing,” he said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Don’t send him dick pics or anything.”

“Do you have dick pics on here to send him?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then that shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” Eponine asked. “I’m just going to apologize that you didn’t text earlier and say that you had fun the other night and that you’d like to meet up again. Anything wrong with that?”

“What if he doesn’t want to meet up with me?”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Seriously. It’s like I’m working with a teenager. If he doesn’t like you, then you move on, but considering he gave you his phone number, I think that covers the whole ‘he likes you’ thing.” She quickly typed out a message and hit send before he could protest.

She handed the phone back to him and he opened his messages app to confirm that she sent what she said she would.

“Now what am I supposed to do?”

“You wait for him to text you back, silly,” she said. “Although considering how long you made him wait, I wouldn’t be surprised if he strings you along for a little bit.”

“I don’t think he’s like that,” Combeferre said.

“Oh yeah?” Eponine asked. “What’s he like, then?”

He shrugged, uncertain how to explain how Courf seemed to radiate happiness even though it’d been clear from talking to him that his life hadn’t been the easiest in the last few years or how his own stomach lurched every time Courf had laughed at something he said. Before he had to figure out a way to explain to Eponine that he _couldn’t_ explain Courf, his phone buzzed in his hand.

A message from Courf. “Holy shit,” he said, opening the text. “He texted me back.”

“Well?” Eponine said. “What’d he say?”

“‘I was beginning to think I was never going to hear from you again. I had a great time too.’ And then there’s a winky face.” Almost immediately he got a second text, again from Courf. At Eponine’s encouragement, he read this one aloud too. “‘We can do coffee again if you want to meet up. Or maybe desserts. I’m usually free in the evenings.’”

“See?” Eponine said, smug. “I told you he likes you.”

Combeferre could feel his heart start to race. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

Again, she rolled her eyes and snatched his phone out of his hands. “‘I can do evenings,’” she said aloud as she typed. “‘How have you been since Saturday?’” She put the phone back in his hands. “Do you think you can manage from there?”

A moment later, he got another text from Courf, complaining about boring staff meetings at his school, and he began to remember just how easy it had been talking to Courf on Saturday. “I’ve got it from here,” he said.

* * *

 

By Wednesday evening, Combeferre was certain that Courf was someone he wanted in his life—preferably romantically but he would take friendship as long as Courf kept texting him. He’d woken up that morning with a _good morning, handsome_ text from Courf and he’d made sure to respond in kind because he didn’t want Courf to feel like he was being too pushy or too forward. Combeferre actually really appreciated how assertive Courf was being because he didn’t really know how to flirt via text and he was more than happy to follow Courf’s lead on this.

“Who’re you texting?” Enjolras asked when Combeferre’s phone went off for the sixth time in as many minutes.

“No one you know,” Combeferre said.They were both sitting in the living room—Enjolras on the sofa with case notes spread around him and Combeferre on their oversized armchair while he watched _Cosmos_ on Netflix—and they were passing their evening the way they normally did—in companionable silence. Other than Neil Tyson DeGrasse’s voice, the buzz of Combeferre’s phone was the only noise in the apartment.

Courf was currently giving him a blow-by-blow of his son’s reaction to seeing _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_ for the first time.

[ **Courf** ] _He is officially terrified of the Oompa Loompas. Now he hides under a blanket every time they start singing. Seriously, though, who decided this movie was at all appropriate for kids? He’s going to be having nightmares for a week!_

[ **Combeferre** ] _Well, if you need a reprieve from tending to his nightmares, you can always have your mom babysit tomorrow night and I can take you out for dessert._

“Your phone’s been going off non-stop since dinner,” Enjolras said. “Is everything okay? Is it one of your patients?”

“No,” Combeferre said, checking his phone as it buzzed again. “It’s nothing like that.”

[ **Courf** ] _Any chance I could get a rain check for that? I’ve got the open house at the elementary school tomorrow and I need to meet my kid’s teacher and all that._

[ **Combeferre** ] _What about Friday?_

[ **Courf** ] _Someone is eager ;) But I am too, so it’s totally okay. I’ll have to make sure I have someone to babysit, but I can probably do Friday_

Enjolras tossed a pillow at him, which he only barely managed to dodge. “You’re grinning like an idiot,” he said. “What’s going on?”

[ **Combeferre** ] _If you can’t find a babysitter, you’re welcome to bring your son along. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide him from me or anything_

[ **Courf** ] _No no it’s not that at all. I just try to keep my romantic life separate from him, you know? I don’t want him getting attached to someone only to have a falling out and then have him sad about it and everything. But let’s plan on friday, okay? If my mom can’t babysit, I’m sure I can rope someone else into it. (I know you haven’t met him yet, but my kid is pretty damn cool and anyone would consider themselves lucky to hang out with him for a night.)_

[ **Combeferre** ] _That sounds great. Do you want to do dinner or just desserts?_

[ **Courf** ] _Is both an option?_

[Combeferre] _Both is definitely an option_

Enjolras was still waiting for an answer from him as Combeferre finalized his plans with Courf and he rubbed his hand over his face, unsure of what to say or how to say it. He’d avoided telling Eponine any more about Courf than he’d had to, but it was different with Enjolras. They’d been friends since high school and at this point, there weren’t really any secrets between them—not even with Combeferre’s reluctance to talk about matters of the heart. Enjolras was the first person Combeferre had ever come out to and he’d been there for Combeferre’s first awkward fumblings when it came to his first relationship and he’d been there for Combeferre’s more recent crash-and-burn relationships. Enjolras was a constant in his life and keeping something like this from him just didn’t really seem like an option.

“I met someone at the grocery store on Saturday,” he said.

“So that’s why you hung up on me,” Enjolras said. “I thought someone must have been having some sort of medical emergency or something.”

“You know that being a doctor isn’t nearly as exciting as you think it is, right?” Combeferre said.

“You’ve got less paperwork than I do,” Enjolras said. “Ergo it’s more exciting than my job.”

He was about to point out that being a doctor actually entailed a lot of paperwork, but then he remembered that he rarely had to bring that paperwork home with him. Enjolras a junior partner at a civil rights law firm and while he was easily as skilled as the senior partners at the firm, he lacked necessary years of experience, which meant that more often than not, he was doing grunt work alongside the firm’s paralegals.

“Anyway,” he said. “I met a guy and we went out for coffee and now we’re texting. We just made plans to do dinner this Friday.”

“Good for you,” Enjolras said.

“Good for me? I thought you hated it when I date.”

“I hate it when you date assholes,” Enjolras corrected. “Judging from the way you smile every time your phone buzzes, I’m going to hazard a guess that this guy _isn’t_ an asshole.” He shrugged. “You know I’ve never been much interested in dating, but it’s always been something _you’ve_ been interested in. If that’s something you want, then you deserve the chance to go after it. You deserve to have someone like that in your life.”

“Yeah, right up until I ruin it,” he muttered.

Enjolras lobbed another pillow at him. “We’ve been over this,” he said. “It takes two people to ruin a relationship and—”

“And it’s obvious that he wasn’t meeting my needs any more than I was meeting his so it was as much his fault as it was mine, yes, yes, I _know_ ,” Combeferre said. “But even you have to admit that this was not my first failed relationship and that putting all the blame on my boyfriends just perpetuates the problem.”

“But I’m not putting all the blame on your exes,” Enjolras said. “I’m saying there’s blame enough for everyone.” He cocked his head to the side. “So you’ve got a date planned for Friday. Are you nervous?”

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he admitted.

“Good,” Enjolras said. “Like I said, dating’s not my thing but even I know you shouldn’t want to screw it up from the beginning.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“You want my advice?”

“You just admitted that dating’s not your thing.”

“I might not know much about relationships,” he said, “but I know a lot about you. Be honest with this guy and with yourself and don’t let yourself get caught up in silly dating games, okay? Things go wrong for you when you feel like you can’t be honest or when you feel like you’re having to pretend to be someone you’re not to fit some silly idea of what a boyfriend is ‘supposed’ to be, so don’t let that happen.”

“That might be easier said than done,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras shrugged again. “I didn’t say it’d be easy—but maybe this guy is worth it being a little hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! It feels like it's been forever since I updated, but I suppose it's only been a month. It's just been a loooooong month.
> 
> Thank you so so SO much to those of you who've taken the time to kudos or comment or say hi on tumblr! It means so much to me (even though sometimes I'm a bit of a schmuck and don't get around to responding)! 
> 
> The next chapter should be up at the beginning of June. If things go according to plan with the other writing project I'm working on, I should finish up the other writing project by the end of June and then will be able to devote more time to this (which would make me really happy because this fic is soooo much more enjoyable than the other thing I'm working on right now). Anyway, you can stop by my [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for updates on my writing or just to stop by and chat!


	5. Chapter 5

Courfeyrac had an appointment with Lucas’s kindergarten teacher—Cosette Fauchelevent—just before the open house on Thursday evening, and he went to the meeting with a smile on his face. Lucas was excited to meet his teacher and to see his classroom and he was excited to go to a “real” school like the one Courfeyrac taught at. It did Courfeyrac’s heart good to see Lucas excited about school. He’d been worried he’d have to hold Lucas out of school for a year if they couldn’t get his seizures under control, but they were going on three weeks seizure free and Courfeyrac was allowing himself the slightest hope that they’d finally found the right medication for Lucas.

His happy mood was bolstered, of course, by the fact that Adrien had barely stopped texting him since Tuesday. It’d been a while since he had really clicked with anyone. Back in Rochester, he’d gone out on dates here and there, but most people he met weren’t interested in the baggage that came with dating a single dad and those who were more amendable to the idea of children being in the picture eventually grew tired of the fact that Courfeyrac would put Lucas ahead of them every single time. He had begun to think that dating was something he’d have to hold off on until Lucas was a bit older and more self-sufficient because he promised himself that Lucas would always come before his lonely soul.

With Adrien, though, he was beginning to think that maybe he could have both. Adrien had been more than understanding that Courfeyrac couldn’t meet with him tonight and had accepted Courfeyrac’s insistence that his family life and romantic life stay separate for the moment. And Adrien was smart and he was funny and he was a great big nerd who studied moths in his spare time and he was also one of the most handsome men Courfeyrac had met in quite a while.

It’d been a long time since anyone had tried to woo him, and Courfeyrac was enjoying the process now while it lasted.

When he and Lucas got to the elementary school that evening, Courfeyrac looked up Miss Fauchelevent’s room number on the list taped to the front door and led Lucas down the hall to the classroom. The door to her classroom was open and Courfeyrac knocked on the door frame and poked his head in. “Miss Fauchelevent?” he asked.

A woman around his own age stood up from her desk to come greet them. “You must be the Courfeyracs,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m Cosette. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My dad had nothing but good things to say about you.”

“Your dad?” Courfeyrac said, stepping into the classroom and tugging Lucas in with him. The room was brightly colored and the tiny desks—he’d forgotten how small everything was in elementary school classrooms—were clustered together in little groups of four or five. Each desk had a name tag with a child’s name already printed on it and on the white board in the front the word “WELCOME” was written in large, colorful letters. It was a happy classroom. He liked that.

“Principal Valjean is my dad,” she said. “Did he not mention it?”

“He mentioned that this daughter taught here, but he didn’t mention your name.”

“He probably thought it’d be a fun surprise for you,” she said, shaking her head a little. “Is this Lucas?” she asked, squatting down to greet Lucas, who was pressed close to Courfeyrac’s leg.

“He’s a bit shy these days,” he said. “But he warms up quickly.”

Cosette just smiled. “Hi, Lucas. I’m Miss F and I’m going to be your teacher this year. Are you excited to start school?”

Lucas hesitated, then nodded.

“Me too,” she said. “But it’s a little scary having to meet so many new people, don’t you think?”

He nodded again.

“Do you know what I like to do when I’m scared?”

Lucas shook his head but he inched ever so slightly towards Cosette.

“I like to think of the biggest, bravest, strongest person I know and I pretend that they’re standing right next to me and then I don’t feel so scared anymore. Who’s the biggest, bravest, strongest person you know?”

Courfeyrac definitely didn’t get tears in his eyes when Lucas meekly said, “My daddy.”

Who was he kidding? Of course he did. Becoming a dad had turned him into a bit of sap.

Cosette just nodded to Lucas. “Daddies are really good at being brave,” she said. “Unfortunately, I’m going to need to borrow your daddy right now for some grown-up talk.” She leaned in towards Lucas. “But I have an idea for how to feel like your daddy is still nearby even when he’s doing boring grown-up things.”

Lucas grinned at her like she was about to unveil the secrets of the universe to him.

A minute later, Cosette had Lucas settled at a tiny desk with crayons and some sheets of paper where she explained that if Lucas drew a picture of his daddy and his family, he could keep it right at his desk and be able to look at it whenever he felt sad or scared at school. Lucas was delighted by the prospect. With him occupied, Cosette ushered Courfeyrac to her own desk at the front of the room.

“Sorry about the lack of adult-sized seating,” she said. “If you want, you can pull over one of the student desks and sit on that. It’s a better fit than the chairs, at any rate.”

Courfeyrac pulled over a desk—the name tag read Juliana—and took a seat. “Comfortable, too,” he said.

“So, Mr Courfeyrac, what did you want to talk about?”

“Please, just call me Courf,” he said, “But Lucas has a seizure disorder and I just want to be sure that we’re on the same page as far as everything there goes.”

“Of course,” she said.

Courfeyrac had come prepared with with printed out infographics and charts and lists of ways to respond to seizures that his old pediatrician back in Rochester had given him and while he went over them with Cosette, she asked questions about what was needed of her to help Lucas and what she needed to do to help keep Lucas happy and healthy. Courfeyrac was immensely relieved. The preschool teachers and daycare workers back in Rochester treated Lucas like a burden—and Courfeyrac understood. Well, part of him understood because the other part of him was irrationally angry that his child had been slighted at all. But the preschool and the daycare had been underfunded and understaffed and they didn’t want to deal with a “problem” child because even if Lucas wasn’t having seizures in class (and he had been) there was also the moodiness and crankiness and exhaustion that came with endless doctor’s visits and new chemical cocktails every six weeks. It was a lot to ask of anyone.

But Cosette seemed compassionate. She agreed to keep track of Lucas’s seizures if he had any in class and to be patient with him if he dozed off because his medication made him tired and promised to make sure Lucas was included in social activities when Courfeyrac explained the way that all of Lucas’s friends had stopped playing with him once his seizures started and how much he wanted to make sure his little boy had a friend. They discussed Individual Education Plans—Cosette seemed immensely relieved that she didn’t have to explain IEPs to him—and they agreed to hold off on an IEP unless Lucas seemed to be struggling at all.

Once Courfeyrac had addressed his concerns, Cosette took the time to talk over some kindergarten curriculum. “Most of kindergarten is about social development,” she said, “although with Common Core, they’re really trying to push academics, so it’s all about learning to read and write on that end—but let’s be realistic. If I can get these kids to play well with each other and know a few sight words and be excited about going on to first grade next year, I consider the year a success. That said I do have to ask a lot from the parents to help their kids out with reading because there’s only so much we can do in class, but I understand what a burden that can be on single parents and if you or Lucas need extra help, please don’t hesitate to ask me. We can always figure something out.”

Courfeyrac remembered that Valjean had said he raised his daughter on his own until she was fifteen and he wondered if Valjean had been around to help her with her school work when she was little or if she understood the hardships of being a single parent because Valjean _hadn’t_ been around as often as either of them would have liked.

“We started doing the alphabet and sight words in the last year,” Courfeyrac said. “We’ve had more down time at doctor’s offices and hospital waiting rooms than I’d’ve liked, but I’m not one to let that time go to waste.”

“A good use of time in an unfortunate situation,” she said with a warm smile.

They were wrapping up their conversation as other parents and students started trickling in. Cosette excused herself to greet everyone and to instruct the parents to help their children find their desks. Courfeyrac noticed that Lucas hadn’t moved at all from his seat but was watching everyone carefully. Lucas had never been terribly outgoing—not one to talk to everyone who walked past him the way Courfeyrac had been as a child—but he’d always been confident, always willing to smile at other kids and be friendly. But he was more withdrawn these days and Courfeyrac’s heart ached because of it. He hadn’t been lying to Cosette when he explained the problems Lucas had with the other kids in daycare and at the preschool.

A five year old shouldn’t have emotional scarring like that.

He made his away across the classroom and crouched down beside Lucas’s desk.

“Do you want to go home, buddy, or do you want to stay here for a little bit longer? Most of the kids in here will be in your class with you and Miss Fauchelevent.”

Lucas surveyed the growing crowd thoughtfully. “We can stay,” he said.

“We can leave as soon as you want, all right?” Courfeyrac said.

Lucas nodded. “Can I show you my picture? Do you think Miss Fauchelevent will like it?”

Courfeyrac allowed Lucas to point out all the details in his picture of the whole family—he was amused to see that Lucas had drawn two houses on the page and drawn a grumpy looking man which was clearly supposed to be Courfeyrac’s father in the larger house on the right—but Lucas clammed right up when a little girl, her hair done up in pigtails and paint smeared across the bib of her overalls, careened into the desk next to his.

“This is my desk,” she said excitedly to Courfeyrac. “See? It has my name on it right here. I already know how to read my name because I’m a big girl and not a baby. Babies don’t know how to read their names because they don’t know their alphabets but I do because I’m big.” She waved to an adult man who was carefully navigating his way around the other parents and children. “Daddy! Daddy! I found my table! Come see my table!”

“That’s great,” the man said, catching up to her. “Good job finding your desk all by yourself. Have you introduced yourself to your new neighbor?”

The little girl shook her head vigorously, her pigtails whipping her in the face. She stuck a hand out to Lucas to rectify her mistake. “My name is Miranda and that’s one of my daddies. I have two of them and a mommy. What’s your name?”

Lucas gave her a high five instead of shaking her hand. “I’m Lucas. I just have one daddy.”

Miranda looked dumbstruck at the idea that any child could have fewer than two parents. “That’s so sad,” she said, her voice somber.

“No it isn’t,” Lucas said fiercely. “I might only have one daddy but I have a grandma and grandpa too—so there.”

“That’s no big thing,” Miranda said. “I’ve got a grandma and grandpa too— _and_ a nana _and_ an abuela and an abuelo!”

Courfeyrac glanced at the girl’s dad, glad to see he wasn’t the only having trouble keeping a straight face.

“Miranda, honey, remember what we said about families coming in all shapes and sizes?” her dad asked. “You’ve got two daddies and a mommy, but some kids have two parents and some kids have one parent and some kids have more parents than you do—but what makes a family is that everybody loves each other and takes care of each other.” Satisfied that his daughter wasn’t going to stick her foot in her mouth any further, the man offered Courfeyrac an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Tact is not her strong suit. We’re working on it.”

“It’s okay,” Courfeyrac said. “The ‘families come in all shapes and sizes’ is a frequent discussion at our house. I’m Courfeyrac.”

“Joly,” the man said, shaking Courfeyrac’s hand. “Is this your oldest?”

“Oldest and only,” Courfeyrac said.

“Miranda’s our third,” Joly explained. “Dominic, our middle child, had Cosette for kindergarten two years ago and she’s amazing. You guys are lucky to be here.” He leaned in closer. “Not to be disrespectful, but the other kindergarten teacher here is a bit of a dinosaur and it’s probably high time she should retire.”

Courfeyrac laughed. His own kindergarten teacher had been a matronly old woman who couldn’t stand kids and he still claimed he had emotional scarring from her. What sort of kindergarten teacher would tell a little boy who’d just broken his arm on the playground that “boys don’t cry”? “Duly noted,” he said. “How old are your other two kids?”

“Dominic starts second grade this year and Suzette will be in fifth grade, so she’s feeling rather smug about everything right now,” Joly said. “They’re off at their own classrooms with Mom and Other Dad respectively, but Miranda wanted me.”

He sounded smug, like he won the draw by getting to take his youngest child to meet her kindergarten teacher.

“So is your family situation a blended family thing or a poly thing?” Courfeyrac asked. “If you don’t mind me asking. If I’m overstepping here, you can forget I said anything.”

Joly laughed. “It is a poly thing, actually,” he said. “Most people don’t guess that the first time…or any time, really.”

“In college, I was really involved with the campus LGBT group and I met quite a few people in polyamarous relationships there,” Courfeyrac explained.

“Very cool,” Joly said. “Are you stilled involved LGBT activism at all?”

“Not so much,” Courfeyac said. He nodded toward Lucas, who seemed to be getting along with Miranda now that they were talking about favorite colors instead of the number of parents they had. “This one came along and, well, I don’t have as much free time as I once did.”

Joly nodded. “I know how that goes. So is it just you and Lucas or is there another parent in the picture somewhere?”

“Just us,” Courfeyrac said. “We get by okay.”

“Well, listen,” Joly said. “If you’re ever having one of those parenting moments where you need some time to yourself or to have another adult step in for a little bit, just call us up, okay? You’ll be getting a directory in the first week of school, and we’re listed there and, believe me, we’re happy to help—playdates, babysitting, a shoulder to cry on, we’ve got you covered. I can’t imagine having to raise even one of my kids without my two better halves.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Courfeyrac said. “Thanks.”

Joly grinned at him and Courfeyrac mirrored the expression. It looked liked kindergarten would be a good way for him and Lucas to make friends.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac tried to pretend he wasn’t nervous about his date on Friday, but this was his first real, _proper_ date in more than a year. His mom was back at the pool house, watching Lucas for the night—an arrangement that both Lucas and his mom were thrilled with. Courfeyrac wasn’t certain what sort of magic his mother had worked on his son to have the little boy so smitten with her, but for the moment, he wasn’t going to question it. It was enough to have free babysitting for the night.

He arrived at the restaurant five minutes early and sat in the car, wondering if it was better to wait till he saw Adrien arrive and act like he’d just pulled into the parking lot as well or to wait for his date—his _date!_ —in the restaurant. Because what if Adrien was going to bail last minute and Courfeyrac ended up alone at a table? He wasn’t sure he could handle that bit of humiliation at the moment. Of course, there was also a chance that Adrien was already waiting for _him_ in the restaurant and he would end up waiting in the parking lot forever. He gave himself a good shake because this line of thinking would get him _nowhere_ , so he summoned his nerve and headed inside.

He spotted Adrien sitting alone at a table near a window and he slipped past the hostess to take his seat across from Adrien.

“You weren’t saving this for someone else, were you?” he teased as he sat down.

Adrien smiled at him. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he said. “Which was stupid. I should have warned you that I’m chronically early for everything.”

“Punctuality is a virtue,” Courfeyrac said. “Unfortunately, it’s not a virtue that parents of small children have much access to.”

“I should have taken that into account,” Adrien said. “How is your son?”

“He’s good,” he said. “He starts school on Monday—full-day kindergarten which is going to save me a fortune on daycare—so he’s pretty excited about that. A little nervous, I think, but mostly excited. He insisted that I read him two stories before I left since I was going to miss his bedtime tonight. I don’t think he’s used to having to share me with anyone.”

“Should I not keep you out too late, then?”

“No, no,” he said, “you may keep me out as late as you want. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been out on a Friday night? My mom is happily babysitting tonight, so—” He gave Adrien his brightest smile. “—I’m all yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

“I can work with that,” Adrien said.

The waitress came by a moment later to get their drink orders and Courfeyrac was pleased to see that Adrien was polite and considerate of the waitress and that he also wasn’t the sort of asshole who tried to order for his dates. Courfeyrac normally waited tables over the summer to cover bills when he wasn’t teaching and over the years, he started using the way people acted to the wait staff as a litmus test of whether or not they were decent people. He’d been sworn at, spit at, and threatened as a waiter and he’d been witness to dozens of horrifying dates where someone’s significant other was a controlling and unforgiving asshat. So far, Adrien was passing his litmus test with flying colors.

“So are you ready for school on Monday?” Adrien asked when the waitress left to get their drinks.

“Hell no,” Courfeyrac said, skimming the menu for something appetizing and also reasonably priced. He didn’t know if Adrien was planning on paying for the meal and at any rate, he was planning on offering to pay his own way because it never made sense to him to put the financial burden all on one person. His bank account was looking a little pathetic these days and it’d still be another week or so before he got paid. He didn’t want to order something too expensive and then have to skimp on groceries next week. (Or be forced to endure more dinners with his parents.) And even if Adrien insisted on paying—which Courfeyrac felt was a distinct possibility—then Courfeyrac could rest easy that he wasn’t overburdening Adrien at all. “But then again, I’m never ready for classes to begin. I’ve been busting my ass trying to get lesson plans taken care of for at least the first week or so, but I know I’m going to end up falling behind and throwing together plans the night before I teach.”

Adrien asked a few questions about lesson planning and what sort of things he hoped to cover in his class but after the waitress came back to take their dinner orders, Adrien fell quiet. He kept smoothing the cloth napkin on his lap and adjusting his silverware so that his fork and knife were perfectly parallel. _He’s nervous_ , Courfeyrac realized with a start. Adrien had seemed so confident and relaxed in their text messages that seeing that he was just as nervous as Courfeyrac felt was rather endearing.

Before he had the chance to break the silence, to reassure Adrien that he was nervous too, Adrien looked up at him and practically winced.

“Sorry,” he said. “This is just kind of awkward. I feel like I already know you from all our texts but at the same time I feel like I’m supposed to make small talk right now and I’m terrible at small talk. Like _really_ terrible.”

“No, you’re not,” Courfeyrac said.

“No, I really am,” he said. “I can get as far as conversation about the weather will take me but then I lose track of what inane questions I’ve already asked and then I get frustrated that we’re wasting energy on a conversation that is clearly boring both of us to tears.”

“You managed small talk just fine when we went out to coffee the other night,” Courfeyrac said. “I got you talking about moths and anti-vaxxers and I’m pretty sure you could have kept going on either subject for hours.”

“But that’s not small talk,” Adrien said. “That’s interesting conversation. It’s not _how was your day, how do you like the weather, traffic’s awful huh_?”

“Well, if that’s what you think small talk is, no wonder you’re bad at it,” Courfeyrac said, laughing a little.

“Oh, so I’m the problem?” Adrien raised his eyebrows and his lips tugged into a perfect little smirk.

The man had a _perfect_ mouth.

“Small talk is getting to know people in little ways,” Courfeyrac said, hoping to distract himself from the sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss Adrien. “Piece by piece. You do your grocery shopping at the same time and place every week, so you get to know the cashiers who usually work that shift and you learn their names, and one week you learn that they prefer clouds and rain in the fall to sunny days and when you’re back the next week and your kid is screaming at the top of his lungs because you won’t let him get a candy bar, you find out that rain-and-clouds cashier has a little niece your son’s age and that she babysits him when her sister is at work and you swap child care tips while she rings you up. Week after that, you learn that she’s always wanted to go Italy when she rings up your Ragu sauce. It’s like a puzzle—you’re putting people together in little bits and pieces and after enough small talk, you find you have a new friend.”

“You’re incredible,” Adrien said. “Did you know that?”

“I had an inkling,” Courfeyrac said. “But why am I incredible?”

“Because for me, small talk is like pulling teeth—slow and laborious and often painful. The cashier at the grocery store asks you if you’ve got anything fun planned for the day and you don’t because there’s a chance that one of your patients might have cancer and you’re both waiting to hear back from the oncologist, so you just shrug and lie about how you’re headed back to the office to take care of some work even though it’s the weekend—and then they complain about working on weekends, but you really don’t mind it because people’s lives are at stake and what you really want to know is if the cashier has anything they’re passionate about—something that excites them and motivates them to get through their day—because you can’t stop thinking about that new book that your roommate bought you and how it’s sitting in your car and how you brought it with you with the hope that you’ll be able to distract yourself with it for even a couple of minutes after your try to explain ‘failure to thrive’ to a new mother.”

“That’s…really depressing,” Courfeyrac said. “But you know what I just learned about?”

“What?”

“You care,” Courfeyrac said. “Perhaps more than you should—or rather more than you have the capacity for. You care about all the ills and all the hurts and you want to make them better and you’re frustrated that people would rather complain about having to go into work on the weekend than talking about ways to fix all the broken things you see in the world.”

Adrien gaped at him for a moment and Courfeyrac knew he nailed that assessment.

“I—how did you know all that?”

“Because I listen,” Courfeyrac said. “And I’m good at hearing the words people aren’t actually saying.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Courfeyrac said. “I’d imagine you do it quite a lot with your patients—that you look for the things they’re not saying as much as the things they are telling you to figure out how to help them. I think you care too much _not_ to do that.”

“It’s different professionally,” Adrien said. “I know what I need to be listening for in those situations—but in my personal life? Courf, you have no idea how bad I can be at this. I’m going to warn you now, I’m terrible at reading between the lines in my personal life and I have ruined more than one relationship because they had expectations of me that they didn’t ever vocalize and I fell short because I couldn’t read their mind.”

“It’s not about mind reading,” Courfeyrac said. “Because that’s silly. As perceptive as I am, I still can’t read minds—and trust me, I definitely tried when I was in high school. So in the interest of full disclosure, so we both know we’re on the same page, I’m going to go ahead and tell you the quickest way to my heart—office supplies.”

Adrien snorted. “Office supplies?”

“All teachers lust after office supplies,” Courfeyrac said. “Pens, pencils, dry erase markers, dry erase _erasers_ because those things are shit when they get old. File folders, paper clips, binder clips, _staplers_ —would you believe that I have students walk off with my staplers all the time? They go missing more than my nice scissors do—and that’s saying a lot, because I can rarely ever find my scissors. I don’t need big romantic gestures from you—though those are nice on occasion—and I don’t need you to read my mind. I just need office supplies.”

“Duly noted,” he said. The conversation lulled for a moment as the waitress returned with their dinners—salmon and asparagus for Adrien and fettuccine alfredo for Courfeyrac. Then Adrien laughed and shook his head. “I feel like you know me so well, but I’m barely scratching the surface on you.”

“I just told you about my secret lust for office supplies,” Courfeyrac said.

“And you probably already know that I have those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of my bedroom done up in the shape of my favorite constellations,” Adrien said.

“I didn’t know that, for the record,” Courfeyrac said, twisting his pasta onto his fork. “And that’s adorable, for the record. But you know you’re welcome to ask me anything, right? If I don’t want to talk about it, I’ll tell you as much but I won’t be offended you asked.”

Adrien nodded. “Anything?”

“Sure.”

There was a long silence during which Adrien focused on his food, like he was debating whether or not he wanted to steer the conversation in a particular direction.

“So your son’s mother,” Adrien said slowly. Courfeyrac could tell he was curious, that he’d probably been agonizing over this secret for days, but was trying to broach the subject delicately. (Just as Courfeyrac had suspected, Adrien had picked up on his reluctance to talk about her, even if he’d never said anything specifically about it.) “Is she still in the picture?”

“No,” he said shortly. He pushed his food around on his plate and had to make an effort to look up at Adrien. He should have known this question was coming. “She walked out when my son was about a month old. She, uh—I woke up in the middle of the night because the baby was crying and she wasn’t in bed. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom or out on the couch because even though we were both exhausted because of the baby, I knew she wasn’t sleeping well and she liked to watch TV at night instead of tossing and turning in the bed. But when I went to look for her, she was just…gone. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“You haven’t heard from her at all?”

“Well, I got a voicemail from her saying, ‘this wasn’t what I wanted, I’m sorry,’ but that was it. I got that about twelve hours after she’d left?” He phrased it like a question, like he was unsure of the details of that day after so many years, but he could remember the exact _moment_ he got that message with crystal clear detail. “I tried calling her back at that number, but it had been disconnected. I can only figure that she’d been planning the whole thing for a while.”

“I’m so sorry,” Adrien said. “That must have been so hard for you.”

“Certainly wasn’t one of my favorite days,” he said, glossing over the deep ache he sometimes felt when he thought about the night Charlotte left him. “But I’ve moved on, you know? It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to—not for me, at least. I can forgive her for walking out on me, but I can’t forgive her for walking out on our son. I like to think that there were other issues at play—post-partum depression or something—but she never tried to get in touch with her own kid even years later, and kids don’t deserve that, you know? They don’t deserve to have their moms walk out on them like that.”

“I really am sorry,” Adrien said. “I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Courfeyrac said. “I don’t necessarily like talking about it because I don’t want to dwell on it, you know? It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live and all that—although I suppose this would be more like dwelling on a nightmare.”

“Did you just quote Dumbledore at me?”

“You get points for catching that,” Courfeyrac said, allowing himself to laugh a little, brushing aside the old hurt from Charlotte’s abandonment. “I’m a child of the Potter generation. I can practically quote those books to you verbatim.”

“I started reading them in college,” Adrien said. “Right before the fifth one came out. Those books got me through some rough years at med school.”

“You were in college when book five came out?” Courfeyrac asked. “I was thirteen! You are so _old_!”

“I’m not that old.” His tone was defensive, but his perfect mouth had curled into a smile, which Courfeyrac took as a cue to keep going.

“You were probably in med school when I was still in high school! This thing we’ve got going is like borderline illegal, you cradle-robber.”

“You’re not in high school now!”

“Technically, I am though” Courfeyrac said.

“Teaching doesn’t count,” Adrien said, deadpanned.

“Old Man Adrien,” Courfeyrac said, trying out the nickname.

“No.”

But Courfeyrac nodded. “I think it has a nice ring to it. It’s better than Grandfather Adrien, at any rate.”

“Says the man who actually has a kid. At this rate, you’ll be a grandfather long before I am.”

“Touche,” Courfeyrac said.

The rest of the date passed in similar good humor, with Adrien’s laughter chasing away the old cobwebs of Charlotte’s abandonment. Courfeyrac laughed and bantered and flirted, feeling carefree and safe with Adrien. He could get used to this. When they finished their meal, they bickered over what desserts to order (Adrien preferred lighter desserts with fruits where Courfeyrac wanted as much chocolate as money would buy him) and in the end, they split a slice of chocolate cheesecake with raspberry topping.

Adrien insisted on covering the bill despite Courfeyrac’s offer to go dutch.

And, like a proper gentleman, Adrien also insisted on walking Courfeyrac out to his car in the parking lot.

They stood under the lamplight near Courfeyrac’s car and Courfeyrac smiled as a moth fluttered past him towards the light. In his pocket, he could feel the weight of his car keys, but he had absolutely no desire to fish them out. He wasn’t ready to let go of this evening.

“I had a really good time,” Adrien said. The light from the street lamp above them cast the lines of Adrien’s face into sharp relief, making his face look sharper and stronger in contrast to the perfect softness of his mouth. Courfeyrac couldn’t remember ever wanting to kiss someone so badly before.

“Me too,” he said. “We should definitely do this again.”

Adrien nodded and he hesitated. Lingered.

Courfeyrac watched him fidget with his clothes and recognized what was a probably a nervous habit for the older man. Figuring Adrien didn’t have the courage to make a move quite yet, Courfeyrac made it for him. He grabbed the front of Adrien’s shirt and tugged him close until he was sandwiched between his car and Adrien’s body. He had to get on his toes a little to kiss Adrien properly, but it was totally worth it when Adrien sank into the kiss immediately. One of his hands found Courfeyrac’s hip, tugging their bodies even closer, and his other hand cupped the side of Courfeyrac’s face, caressing his cheek almost reverently. A hint of teeth and tongues, enough to make Courfeyrac feel like his blood was on fire, enough to make him moan and press himself closer to Adrien, determined to eliminate all space between them, determined to make this last as long as he could, determined to do whatever he had to to make sure Adrien would kiss him like this again and again.

In the end, a car alarm from across the parking lot broke them apart.

Courfeyrac was breathless and even in the dim light, he could see that Adrien was flushing.

Adrien nodded a little absently, but a goofy little smile crept over his face. “Yes,” he said. “We should _definitely_ do this again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends :) I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it (especially the end omg that was a delight to write). I know last month I was hoping that I'd be able to start posting more frequently after this chapter, but I don't know if that's going to be possible. I've lost faith in the writing project I was supposed to be finishing this month, so that's stalled, and in the mean time, I've started two other writing projects? Oops? So who knows when I'm going to get anything done, BUT I can promise you all, dear readers, that you'll get at least one chapter of this every month. I can guarantee that much.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all SO MUCH for the comments and the kudos and the tumblr messages. You have no idea how much they brighten my day :D The next chapter will be up in about a month, and until then stop by my [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) to say hi or for updates on my writing. You're all the best. Stay cool.


	6. Chapter 6

It was with a heavy heart that Courfeyrac went to work on Monday morning. He usually loved the first day of school, loved getting to know a new set of students, getting back into a regular schedule, but this was also Lucas’s first day of school. His _first_ first day of school and his mom promised to take all sorts of pictures when she came over to the pool house this morning and he and Lucas already had plans to have a “first day of school ice cream date” when Lucas got done in the afternoon, but it wasn’t the same.

This wasn’t the first of Lucas’s firsts that Courfeyrac had been forced to miss, and apparently this wasn’t an emotional burden that got easier with time.

It had actually been really hard not to cry on the drive over to Copland and he was still a little weepy when he shuffled into the auditorium for the staff meeting before school. Jehan had saved a seat for him in the back row and he passed Courfeyrac a coffee cup when he sat down.

“Caramel macchiato,” he said. “I know you like it and I thought maybe you could use a pick-me-up this morning.”

He threw an arm around Jehan’s shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze.

Valjean towered over everyone at the front of the auditorium, giving the usual spiel principals gave on the first day of school. Today was the start of great new school year and it was important to get off on the right foot and the administration would be there every step of the way to support the staff. Teamwork and all that jazz. The spiel was nearly over when Grantaire slunk into the auditorium and collapsed into the empty seat next to Courfeyrac. He was wearing sunglasses even though the lighting in the auditorium was dim and it looked like he hadn’t put much effort in getting ready this morning. Courfeyrac frowned at him in concern, but Jehan leaned across him and poked Grantaire in the gut before he could say anything.

“Are you _drunk_?” Jehan hissed. “For fuck’s sake, R, it’s only the first day!”

Grantaire swatted his hand away. “I’m hungover, not drunk,” he hissed in response. “There’s a difference.”

Jehan didn’t look convinced, but Grantaire shushed him before he could say anything more, using Valjean’s speech in the front of the room as an excuse to avoid a hard conversation.

But as soon as Valjean had dismissed them, Jehan swooped in on Grantaire again. “Hungover?” he asked in a low enough voice that even Courfeyrac had a hard time hearing him.

“It’s fine,” Grantaire snapped back.

“It’s the first day of school, R!”

“Exactly,” he said. “I barely have to teach today! I’ve got my AP kids first thing and they already know about my class policies and all that shit. It’s fine!”

“Valjean said—”

“I know what Valjean said,” Grantaire grumbled. He gave Courfeyrac a plaintive look. “You’ve known him forever—can’t you call him off or something?”

“No can do,” Courfeyrac said. Jehan was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be—a fact that Courfeyrac was pretty sure Grantaire already knew. “Sorry.”

“Load of help you are,” Grantaire grumbled. He turned to Jehan. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m in some desperate need of coffee and I don’t care that the stuff in the teacher’s lounge tastes like shit.”

Jehan watched him leave with a look that was equal parts concern and frustration.

“Do I need to be worried about him?” Courfeyrac asked as they filed out of the auditorium together. He liked Grantaire—and Lucas was especially fond of him. Courfeyrac didn’t want him to get hurt.

“He’s got a drinking problem,” Jehan said. “Not that he admits it that to himself, even though the rest of us can see it bright as day. He hasn’t exactly shown up to work drunk yet, but it’s hard to be an effective teacher when you’re hungover and Valjean made it clear last year that his job was on the line if he can’t clean up his act a little.” Jehan sighed, halting at the door to his classroom. “But that’s besides the point. Even if I think he needs a good kick in the ass sometimes, Grantaire knows how to toe the line. It’s your first day! We should be celebrating.”

“We can celebrate if I can survive the day,” he said. “I’m not used to working with teenagers, you know?”

Jehan snorted. “Courf, you taught at a middle school for how many years? Trust me, teenagers are _much_ easier to deal with. There’s not enough money in the world to get me to set foot in a middle school.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Of course,” Jehan said with a wide smile. “Good luck today! You’re going to do great!”

Even with Jehan’s well-wishes, he was battling a bad case of nerves as kids filed into his class room for first period. He let them pick their own seats—though he wasn’t afraid to assign seats later in the year if some kids couldn’t be trusted next to each other—and mostly he watched from his desk in the back of the room, trying to get a feel for what sort of class this was and what sort of kids he’d be working with. He was good reading people, and teenagers were no different. Most of them filed in in clusters, eager that they had a friend in at least one of their classes, but there were some kids who straggled in by themselves. He took special note of them, wondering if they just didn’t have friends in this class or if there was a deeper cause for their isolation.

When the bell rang to signify the start of class, he took a deep breath to settle his nerves and summoned a friendly smile. He’d done this dozens of times before—the only thing different about this time was the age of his students.

“Okay, everyone take a seat,” he said. His teacher voice came back to him easily. “And let’s get started!”

He introduced himself to his class with a powerpoint presentation that he’d let Lucas help him with. The powerpoint had an entire slide dedicated to the phonetic pronunciation of his last name, though he had already resigned himself to the fact that at least half of his students would never learn to pronounce his name properly (even though he took great care to learn the proper pronunciation and spelling of all his kids’ names). Thankfully, he didn’t mind going by Mr. C most of the time. He talked a little about himself and showed off pictures of Lucas, which normally bored his students but he didn’t care because Lucas was the reason their tests and papers would never be graded on time and he felt they should know that up front. He covered the ground rules for his classroom. At his old school he had a reputation for being one of the “cool teachers,” which was a big deal because middle schoolers were notoriously difficult to impress because they were too busy trying to look cool to their peers, but as laid back as he was with his students, he also had a few rules that he was unyielding about, particularly when it came to name calling and bullying, and he made sure his students knew that from the beginning.

For kicks, at the end of the powerpoint, he’d included a picture of him and Jehan from when they were in high school together, right at the height of Jehan’s emo days. He taught freshman, so most of the students hadn’t met Jehan yet, but the entire class appreciated how ridiculous they both looked all the same.

Their laughter eased his last remaining nerves.

After a few periods, he’d fallen into a rhythm and was feeling better about everything, but he was still grateful when lunchtime rolled around and he could get off his feet and relax for a half hour. Courfeyrac had lunch in his classroom with Jehan, Grantaire, Bahorel, and Feuilly, who taught a couple of computer science classes and also a digital art class. Grantaire, his hangover much improved, lounged at Courfeyrac’s desk, scrolling through the music on Courfeyrac’s laptop and playing the most obnoxious songs he could find while the rest of them rearranged the desks a little so they could see each other while they ate and talked. As they tucked into their food, swapping tales of first day faux pas, Courfeyrac passed around his phone to show off the pictures his mom had sent him of Lucas standing in front of his elementary school and sitting at his desk in Cosette’s classroom.

He was fairly certain that his mom had probably tried to stay longer than all the other parents dropping off their kids for the first day of school so she could document the entire thing. After all, that’s what she’d done when Courfeyrac and his brother and sister had each started school. There was a box of old home videos somewhere in his parents house that detailed the beginning of each school year, and he suspected his son had been subjected to the same treatment.

“He looks so excited,” Jehan said, passing the phone to Grantaire who’d been making grabby hands at the phone.

“Course he’s excited,” Grantaire said. “My Lucas is a smart kid. He’s gonna love school.”

“ _Your_ Lucas?” Courfeyrac asked.

“We bonded over art,” Grantaire said, matter-of-fact. “And that’s the deepest bond there is.”

“Oh yes,” Feuilly said dryly, accepting the phone from Grantaire. “Much deeper than, you know, actually raising the kid.”

Courfeyrac snorted.

While Grantaire returned to rummaging through Courfeyrac’s music collection, Courfeyrac and Feuilly talked about their summers and Jehan and Bahorel talked about letting the football team (which Bahorel helped coach) and the boys’ cross country team (which Jehan coached) do some cross-training together, and their conversation was heavy with lingering glances and blushing. Jehan still refused to tell Courfeyrac if there was anything going on between him and Bahorel, but it was pretty damn obvious watching the two of them talk that there was. Judging from the way Feuilly kept rolling his eyes at Bahorel, Courfeyrac knew he wasn’t the only who saw it.

Half-way through the lunch period, a student aide knocked on the doorframe before letting himself in.

“I’ve got a delivery for Mr. Cour—Coorf—Cur—”

“Mr. C is fine,” Courfeyrac said before the student could butcher his name any further. He ignored the way his colleagues snickered—as if Courfeyrac were any harder to say than any of _their_ names—and stood up to accept whatever the aide had for him.

He figured it’d be some sort of welcome gift—the administrators at his old school always gave welcome baskets to the new teachers on the first day of school—but the aide handed him what seemed to be some sort of…office supply bouquet. Courfeyrac frowned as he accepted the delivery and set it down on a nearby desk, because just looking at it he guessed there was a few hundred dollars’ worth of office supplies and he doubted the school had the budget for something like this for all the new teachers at the school.

And then he spotted the tag nestled between some staplers and a few boxes of red, green, and black Flair tip pens. (He _loved_ Flair tip pens.) _I wasn’t sure what sort of office supplies you’d need your first day, so I got you a bit of everything. Good luck today! I can’t wait to hear about it._ It was signed with a heart and the name Adrien.

Courfeyrac collapsed into his chair and started laughing.

“What?” Jehan asked. “What is it?”

“He got me a bouquet of office supplies! I think this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done to me!”

Jehan was on his feet in an instant to inspect the offering. “This is from your doctor friend?” he asked. “Color me impressed!”

“Wait,” Bahorel said. “What doctor friend? Courfeyrac has a doctor friend?”

“He met him in a grocery store,” Jehan said. He looked up at Courfeyrac. “You’ve gone out, what, once? Twice now?”

“We had our first real date over the weekend,” Courfeyrac said. He could feel his face heat with a blush. “And we kissed—a damn good kiss—but I didn’t think…I didn’t think he’d do anything like this.”

Grantaire came over to inspect the gift. “This is a good haul,” he said, pulling out a top of the line electric pencil sharpener.

Courfeyrac grabbed sharpener out of Grantaire’s hand and tucked it back in the basket. “Someone take my picture with it,” he said. “I want to send him a thank you text.”

He crouched down next to the basket, grinned broadly, and held two thumbs up as Bahorel quickly snapped a picture for him. Taking his phone back, he sent the picture to Adrien, along with a message that read, “Thanks so much for the bouquet! You’re amazing! I’ll call you tonight to tell you about my day :D”

Adrien responded a moment later with _xxo_.

Jehan watched him through all of it with keen eyes. “You keep a hold of this one, Courf,” he said. “He’s definitely a keeper.”

The office supply bouquet had been an unexpected pick-me-up and Courfeyrac was surprised at how much it buoyed his spirits as his energy started to lag toward the end of the day. Glancing back at the bucket of staplers and pens and pencils was enough to make him grin and surge on with the same speech he’d given a half-dozen times. He was still light on his feet when he went to pick Lucas up from school.

When he pulled into the carpool line in front of the school, he was pleased to see that Lucas looked as excited and pleased with himself as Courfeyrac felt. He rushed to the car as soon as he spotted Courfeyrac, ignoring the lady who was supposed to make sure the right child got in the right car. Lucas clambered into the backseat, talking so fast that Courfeyrac didn’t even have a chance to remind him that he needed to follow the carpool rules.

“I was scared at the beginning of the day even though Grandma told me I didn’t need to be but she’s old and she doesn’t remember what it’s like to be little and scared so I didn’t want to talk to anyone but then I remembered what you told me last night about being big and brave and how all the other kids would be scared too, so I made sure to be extra nice and friendly to the other kids and Miss Cosette let me hand out papers and things because I’m her special helper this week.” Lucas barely paused to take a breath and Courfeyrac didn’t even have the chance to ask what it meant to be a special helper because Lucas launched into another speech. “Miss Cosette’s gonna pick a special helper each week and the helper gets to do things like hand out papers and pick the story book for story time and special things like that and Miss Cosette said that everyone will get a chance to be her special helper, but I’m _extra_ special because I got to be her special helper _first_ and I got to walk at the front of the line when we got to go on a trip to the gym and the library and Miss Cosette said that we’ll get to go to the library _every week_ and there are lots of picture books that I can bring home just like at a _real_ library! They even had books about dinosaurs and I liked them even though Miranda told me that dinosaurs aren’t as interesting as dogs. Miranda sits next to me in class and she’s bossy but it’s in a good way because she made sure everyone had someone to play with at recess and someone to sit with at lunch and that was nice ‘acause then no one was lonely and I ate lunch with some boys from my class and one of them even traded his pudding for my fruit snacks!”

“If you already had pudding,” Courfeyrac said, glancing at Lucas in the rear view mirror as he drove, “then you probably don’t want to get ice cream with me.”

“No no no,” Lucas said, bouncing in his seat a little. “I still want ice cream! I can have pudding _and_ ice cream!”

Courfeyrac laughed and drove to the locally owned ice cream place that had been a common haunt of his own childhood. Nestled in a booth in the corner of the shop, he and Lucas swapped stories about their first days. He let Lucas do most of the talking and was unable to keep a smile off his face as he listened to Lucas go over every little detail about his school day with all the wonder and enthusiasm that only children could manage. Like all parents, Courfeyrac was no stranger to the heartache and the stress that came with raising a kid, but it was moments like this that made him remember why he would never trade this for anything in the world.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac made it a week and a half before his parents managed to corner him for dinner. He was exhausted, his body still not completely adjusted to his teaching schedule yet, and his mom had been desperate from the first day of school to have dinner and see how things were going with him and Lucas. He’d done what he could to get out of the dinners—he had lessons to plan and the elementary school sent home a dozen forms that he needed to fill out and it was important to keep Lucas on his sleep schedule because the combination of sleep deprivation and stress from starting school could easily trigger a seizure in his little boy—but in the end, his parents ignored all of his excuses and invited themselves over to the pool house for dinner.

They at least had the courtesy to bring food, because Courfeyrac had made chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and a healthy side of grapes for dinner for him and Lucas.

He thought his mom was going to pitch a fit when she saw what he had fixed.

“Hugo, darling,” she said, setting a dinner of broiled tilapia and steamed veggies down on the table, “that’s hardly a nutritious meal for you _or_ Lucas. If you don’t have time to cook, you are always welcome to eat with us at the house.”

“The processed food hasn’t killed us yet,” he said, handing a stack of plates to Lucas, who carefully took the dishes to the table. “And you really should have let me know you were coming over.”

“We asked you over for dinner a dozen times,” she said. “You kept refusing and we wanted to see you.”

“Did it never occur to you that there was a reason I kept refusing? The beginning of the school year is always rough.”

“It’s rude to deny an invitation,” his dad said in a low voice.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes when he turned back to the cupboard to grab some glasses. “Well that answers that, I guess.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting to see you,” his mother said. “Besides, I wanted to hear all about Lucas’s first week of school!”

Lucas immediately launched into his list of “reasons why kindergarten is the best” and Courfeyrac gestured to the table for his parents to take a seat. His dad looked at him skeptically.

“Aren’t you and Lucas going to change?”

“My kitchen, my rules,” Courfeyrac said. “And we don’t dress for dinner here. If you had called beforehand, I could have told you as much and then you wouldn’t be overdressed now.”

He took a seat at the head of the table, ignoring the look from his mom that suggested he was being a smart ass.

Lucas sustained the conversation for most of the meal, despite the heavy sighs from Michael who had never liked children (not even his own) and liked listening to them talk even less. But as this was Courfeyrac’s home, it’d be rude for him to say anything. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smirking because maybe it’d be worth insisting that they do family dinners here instead of the main house if he could call the shots a bit more.

“This fish is amazing, Mom,” Courfeyrac said in one of the rare lulls of Lucas’s chatter. “Any chance I can get the recipe?”

“I’ll just be sure to have the maid make it on nights when I know you and Lucas will be joining us,” she said.

Obviously he wasn’t the only one scheming to get these family dinners working in his favor.

“But Hugo,” Jeanine said. “How are you doing? I know you’ve been busy. I saw that you had your friend Jehan watch Lucas the other night.”

He’d gone out with Adrien again over the weekend, even though Adrien was preparing to go to some sort of conference and Courfeyrac was still trying to throw together lesson plans. They texted each other regularly, but Courfeyrac found himself almost desperate to see Adrien after a full week of classes.“How did you know that?”

“His car was in the driveway,” she said. “And yours was gone the whole time. I’m not foolish. How is Jehan anyway?”

“Is he still…you know?” his dad wanted to know.

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. “Gay?”

“No,” he said. “A poet.”

He snorted and made a mental note to tell Jehan about this conversation. He’d be delighted to no end to know that his dad found being a poet even more upsetting than being gay. “He still writes poetry,” he said. “He actually teaches a creative writing class at the high school. Is there something wrong with that?”

Before either of his parents could answer, Lucas piped up. “Me and Jehan colored pictures when he was here. I liked it. He’s nice and he remembers all my stuffed aminals’ names.”

“It’s just…you seem to have needed babysitters a lot recently,” Jeanine said.

“Lucas, buddy,” Courfeyrac said. “Why don’t you go get those pictures that you and Jehan did to show Grandma?”

Lucas eagerly excused himself from the table and hurried off to his room. The pictures in question were carefully taped to the wall over Lucas’s bed, so Lucas would be a while trying to get the pictures doing without ripping anything. Courfeyrac turned to his mother.

“First of all, if you’re going to lecture me, I’d rather you not do it in front of my son,” he said. “Second, I’ve only been out three nights since I moved in—and one of those was because _you_ insisted on it.”

“Where were you on Sunday?” she asked.

“I had…other obligations.”

“Was it a work obligation?” Michael asked.

“No.”

“So what excuse do you have for abandoning your child and pawning him off on other people?” he asked.

“Whoa, okay, I am in no way, shape, or form abandoning my son. I know what child abandonment looks like first hand and that’s not what I’m doing. And for the record, not that it’s any of your business, I met someone the other night when Mom offered to watch Lucas and that’s where I’ve been the other two times. On dates. Do you have a problem with that? Because I didn’t realize that by moving in I agreed to forfeit my social life!”

“Oh, Hugo,” Jeanine said. “You’ve met someone? Who is she? What’s her name?”

“ _His_ name is Adrien,” Courfeyrac said. “He’s a doctor.”

“So you’re gay now?” Michael asked.

“Nope, still bisexual,” he said, irritated. He knew he would have to tell his parents about Adrien eventually—especially if he needed his mom to babysit—but this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.

“Is this because of Charlotte?” Michael asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Because she walked out on you and saddled you with Lucas—”

“She did not _saddle_ me with him!”

“—and you can’t trust women anymore? Is that it?”

“No! I’m bisexual, Dad. I like people of genders both similar and different to my own! What is so complicated about that?”

“You didn’t _used_ to be like this!”

“I’ve always been like this!”

“You used to like women like a proper man!”

“Michael, Hugo, that’s enough.”

“I didn’t start this,” Courfeyrac snapped.

“And you think it’s okay for your son to see you like that?” Michael demanded.

“To see me like _what_ exactly?” Courfeyrac asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“To be the woman in some relationship with some rich doctor!”

Courfeyrac slammed his hand down on the table. “You don’t get to talk to me or about me that way,” he hissed. “And you certainly not in my own home. And for the record, Lucas doesn’t know anything about Adrien because he’s a little boy and he doesn’t need to get attached to people who might not stick around and _not_ because I’m afraid to let him see me with another man!” He slumped back in his chair. “I think it’s time you left.”

Michael threw his napkin down on his plate and stormed out of the pool house, slamming the door behind him.

“Daddy?” Lucas asked in a quiet voice in the hollow silence left in Michael’s wake.

Courfeyrac turned in his seat to see Lucas, frozen near his bedroom door. He had a couple sheets of paper clutched his hands and his face was white.

“I heard shouting,” he said.

“Oh, pumpkin, I’m so sorry,” he said. He stood up from the table and crouched in front of his little boy, who looked like he might start crying at any second. He gently brushed Lucas’s hair away from his face.“Grandpa and I got in a fight and I’m sorry you had to hear that, but it had nothing to do with you, okay?”

Lucas nodded.

“Did you find the pictures? Do you still want to show Grandma?”

Lucas sniffed and nodded again and Courfeyrac swept his son into his arms and carried him to the table, trying his best to make Lucas feel safe and secure. He sat down in a chair next to Jeanine, settled Lucas in his lap, and cleared out some space on the table for Lucas to spread out his pictures. Lucas’s voice was still a little shaky as he told the stories behind each of his drawings, but Jeanine caressed the back of his head the entire time. Seeing the affection between his mother and his son soothed some of the anger in his heart. His dad had always been an asshole and apparently that hadn’t changed when he moved out of the house. And Courfeyrac had always assumed that his mom was disappointed in him, that she thought he was the family screw-up, and maybe she did feel that way, but he couldn’t deny the fondness she had for his son and that was what mattered the most to him right now. His own hurt and frustration could wait as long as Lucas knew that he was loved.

Later that night, after getting Lucas tucked away in bed, Courfeyrac retreated to his own bedroom and shut the door behind him and pulled out his phone. Normally after a knock down, drag out fight like that, Courfeyrac would call Jehan. This time, he called Adrien.

Adrien was gone for most of the week for some sort of conference, but Courfeyrac hoped that the other man might have some time to spare him because he really needed to purge himself of this whole fiasco before it festered any worse.

“Courf,” Adrien said, answering the phone. Courfeyrac liked to think he could hear a smile in the other man’s voice. “I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

“Yeah, well, something came up and I need to rant about it before I do something stupid like light my dad’s car on fire. Any chance you could spare me a couple of minutes?”

“Of course,” Adrien said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Rubbing his hand over his face, Courfeyrac quickly related the entire disaster that was dinner with his dad. “It’s just shit, you know?” he finished. “I have been out to my parents since I was in high school and he _still_ acts like the only reason I could possibly be interested in men is because I was damaged somehow when Charlotte walked out on me—and that shit he said about me being the _woman_ in a relationship? Hello, misogyny. I can’t believe my mom is still _married_ to that asshole!”

“Have things always been that bad between you and your parents?”

“Yes and no,” he said. “I mean, I never _really_ worried that they were gonna kick me out the house or hurt me or anything when I came out to them, but…” He shrugged, even though Adrien couldn’t see the movement. “I’m a bit of a people pleaser and it can be a problem sometimes. Like I spent so much of childhood trying to be the son my dad wanted me to be and when I came out, it was just sort of…I don’t know. It killed whatever pride my dad did have in me. No matter what I did after that, I knew I was always less than what he wanted and I’d be lying if I pretended that sort of shit didn’t mess me up. I mean, there’s a reason why I went to school on the other side of the state and stayed there until now. I didn’t want my kid to be raised like that. I don’t want him to have all the issues that I’ve got about needing to please someone who will never be proud of you.”

“I’m really sorry,” Adrien said. “It sucks that you still have to deal with this. It’s only temporary, right? I mean, you living with your parents?”

“Sort of,” Courfeyrac said. He’d avoided talking in depth about the reasons he moved back in with them in the first place. “I’ve got a lot of debt I’m trying to pay off right now, so getting my own place really isn’t an option for the time being.”

“Right, of course,” he said.

“What’s it like with your family?” Courfeyrac asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the shambles that was his relationship with his dad. “Are they super proud of their gay doctor son or what?”

“We, ah, actually don’t talk about it,” Adrien said. “Like ever.”

“Like _ever_ ever? I mean, they _know_ that you’re into dudes, right?”

“They know,” Adrien said. “I came out when I was in college but…I was raised in the Bible Belt—”

“Are you serious?” Courfeyrac asked. “I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “We moved up north when I was in high school, but by that time, I’d already heard and internalized all sorts of crap about what it means to be gay and my dad—I mean, both of my parents are atheists, so it’s not like they’re convinced I’m an abomination and that I’m going to hell—but I think your dad and mine probably have similar ideas of what it means to be a man and I think it makes him uncomfortable to know that I do date men—but that’s not my problem, you know? That’s something that he’s going to have to work out himself. So we just don’t talk about it. When I go home for holidays and whatever, they ask about how my practice is going and they ask about my friends and the volunteer work I do, but they never ask about my love life…and I’m not going to be the one to open that can of worms.”

“And I thought I had it bad,” Courfeyrac muttered.

“It’s not a competition. We can both have shitty relationships with our parents.”

“I know, I know,” Courfeyrac said. “But like—I can’t even imagine not being able to tell my parents about my relationships. Like I hadn’t mentioned you yet to them because I didn’t quite know where things stood between us, but I knew that I was _going_ to tell them eventually as long as things were working out between us. And I knew my dad would probably say something shitty about it, but he says shitty stuff a lot, so it’s not like that’s a big surprise. I just…I can’t imagine having someone in my life like this and not being able to tell my own parents.”

“Wait, back up. What did you mean?”

Courfeyrac frowned. “About what?”

“About not knowing where things stand between us,” Adrien said.

“Oh,” he said, laughing nervously. “Just, you know, obviously we like each other and everything but I didn’t really know if we’re officially dating or if we’re exclusive or if…I don’t know. We’re in the weird liminal space of a relationship—and that’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with that—and even if I wanted to talk about this, I’m not going to be the guy who brings up commitment after two and half dates, you know?”

Adrien was quiet for a moment and Courfeyrac worried that he’d said too much. “Have you been thinking about this a lot?” Adrien finally asked.

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” he said. “It’s not like it’s what I think about every waking moment, but when I talk about you to my friends at work, I never know if I can call you my boyfriend or if we’re just make out buddies or whatever and—I’m just curious, that’s all. I’m fine with the way things are between us. I just think about stuff like this a lot—more than most people do probably.”

“Courf, you should have said something,” Adrien said. “I told you about how lousy I am at stuff like this. It never even occurred to me that you’d be uncertain as to what was going on between us. I just…I assumed we were dating. We see each other when we can, and we hold hands and kiss when we do, and we text almost constantly—and that’s more or less what dating is to me. I mean, I’d like to see you far more often than I do, but we’re both busy and I understand that. I just figured you felt the same, which is terrible of me. I shouldn’t have assumed that you were as invested in this as I am.”

“No, no, no,” Courfeyrac said quickly. “Assume away! I am _totally_ invested in us. One hundred percent. I just didn’t want to push the issue in case _you_ weren’t as invested as I was. But we’ve got that cleared up now. See? Talking about this stuff isn’t as hard as you think.”

Adrien laughed nervously from the other end of the line. “So we’re dating,” he said. “Exclusively?”

“I’m fine with that if you are,” Courfeyrac said.

“Good.”

“You sound a little overwhelmed,” he said. “Things okay over there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Adrien said. “This feels right.”

Courfeyrac flopped backwards onto his bed. “I wish you were in town,” he said. “I wish I could see you right now.”

“I get back late tomorrow night,” Adrien said. “Probably too late to see you, since we’ll both have work in the morning, but I’m free Friday night?”

Courfeyrac groaned.

“What? What is it?”

“I’m helping chaperone the football game on Friday night at my school,” he said. “It’s our first home game of the season and my best friend, he teaches English, but he totally has a thing for the assistant football coach so he talked to me into chaperoning with him—even though I’m pretty sure he’s just going so he can stare at the coach’s ass the whole game.”

“I could…”

“You could what?”

“Is that the sort of thing I could tag along for?” Adrien asked hesitantly. “I mean, obviously your first priority will be chaperoning and to be honest I don’t really care much for football, but…I don’t know…it might be nice to watch the game with you.”

Courfeyrac couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “You are a brilliant, brilliant man,” he said. “I’ll have to double check, but I can’t imagine why you _wouldn’t_ be allowed to come. I’m mostly just going to make sure the students aren’t doing anything illegal, but they’re mostly good kids so it shouldn’t be too hard. You would really come to a high school football game with me?”

“I want to be with you,” Adrien said. “I can suffer through a football game if it means I get to spend time with you.”

“You, my good sir,” Courfeyrac, “are quite the flatterer. I’ll ask about bringing a guest to the game when I’m chaperoning tomorrow and I’ll let you know, okay? Even if you can’t, we’ll work something out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Adrien said. “I—I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good night, my dear Adrien. I will wait with bated breath till I can see you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet, folks! I hope you don't get spoiled by how long it is, because I don't think I can keep up this pace for very long. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and commenting and kudos-ing and saying hi over on tumblr. I love hearing from you! It looks like I'm on track to get the next chapter up early-ish next month, and until then, feel free to say hi or ask me anything over on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)!


	7. Chapter 7

Combeferre waited outside the gates to the Copland High football stadium, watching clusters of students and parents walk past him to the ticket office. Courf had texted him earlier in the day and told him he’d meet him at the gates and that he already tickets for them. Combeferre, the text had said, just had to show up and be charming. Which he could do. At least, he _hoped_ he could do. Courf had a way of putting him completely at ease with a joke and a flirty smile and Combeferre felt comfortable with him, but now he was going to meet some of Courf’s friends and co-workers and he felt like he needed to impress them. Like this date was some sort of test—if Combeferre fit in with Courf’s friends, then he could advance to the next level and meet his family.

Which was ridiculous, because Courf didn’t seem like the sort of boyfriend who believed in _tests_. He didn’t seem like the sort of person who wanted or needed Combeferre to _be_ a certain way in order for their relationship to continue. More likely, this was just ghosts of relationships past trying to psych him out and that Courf just wanted to him to meet his friends because Courf was the sort of person who needed the important people in his life to know each other.

Combeferre felt his fledgling anxiety flee when he saw Courf cutting through the parking lot towards him. He was grinning and decked from head to toe in the school colors of black, maroon, and silver. When Courf caught up to him, he raised up on his toes and pressed a quick kiss to Combeferre’s lips.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, dragging his hand through his hair. “My kid’s great—really, he is—but sometimes he can be a little monster. I usually take him football games and stuff, so he was quite put out that I was leaving him at home tonight. I promised I’d make it up to him tomorrow.”

“You could have brought him,” Combeferre said, though secretly he was glad that Courf hadn’t. He was eager to meet Courf’s little boy, but it’d also been nearly a week since he’d seen Courf and he wanted the other man to himself for a bit. “I hope you didn’t leave him behind on my account.”

Courf grabbed hold of Combeferre’s hand and tugged him towards the gate, where a parent or teacher volunteer in a Copland High sweater was taking tickets. “It’s fine,” Courf said. “Since I’m technically chaperoning, it’d be hard to wrangle him and keep track of my students. I imagine you can wrangle yourself pretty well, so keeping an eye on the students shouldn’t be too hard with you around.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Combeferre said as Courf handed over the tickets.

Inside the stadium, the crowd was thick as people milled around before pre-game. The Copland High marching band was tuning at the far end of the football field, while cheerleaders from both teams mingled with each other on the track that looped around the football field. Parents and students and faculty lingered just inside the gates and near the concession stand, blocking traffic to the bleachers.

Combeferre had been in the marching band when he’d been in high school, and he remembered being forced to go to all of the football games—even when the weather would inevitably turn cold and brutal in the middle of October—and it was strange to him how just being at a high school football game again could bring all those memories right back. High school, despite what an unusual number of teachers had tried to convince him, had _not_ been the time of his life. Far from it. He’d been awkward and sometimes condescending to a lot of his peers, but it had always been laced with a sort of fear that someone at school—someone other than Enjolras, whom Combeferre trusted completely—would find out that he was gay and would use that information against him. And, for whatever reason, those were the feelings that rushed back to him the strongest right now, making him uncomfortable and almost fearful to be holding Courf’s hand in such a public space.

It felt too vulnerable.

“Adrien?” Courf asked, frowning when Combeferre pulled his hand away. “Is everything okay?”

Combeferre shook himself. It’d been nearly twenty years since he’d last attended a high school football game, and he was well aware that in that time the attitude towards two men holding hands had shifted almost entirely. He was being foolish. “Sorry,”he said, reaching out for Courf’s hand again. “I just haven’t been to a football game since I was in high school and I was so deep in the closet back then—it’s just weird being publicly affectionate in a place where I would’ve been beaten up for holding hands. Don’t mind me.”

“Don’t apologize,” Courf said. He gave Combeferre’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It was rough enough being out when I was in school—but things are better now. I mean, there’s always that asshole who’s going say crap and make someone’s life miserable, but you _really_ don’t have to worry about that right now. This is like the gayest school in the state, and we have _very_ strict anti-bullying policies.”

“Gayest school in the state?” Combeferre asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah,” he said. He tugged Combeferre towards the stands to take a seat. “There’s me, obviously, and then my friend Jehan is pretty damn gay—and he’s in love with the assistant football coach who’s gay or maybe bi or pan or something. I haven’t asked. And our friend Grantaire, the art teacher, is bi. Our calculus teacher is a lesbian and she brings her girlfriend to all sorts of school events. Our computer teacher might be ace? I’m not sure—and again, I haven’t asked and it’s probably rude of me to speculate. But our principal is gay.” Courf pointed to a large man who was standing next to a police officer in uniform. “The officer next to him is his long-term partner, Javert. All the kids here are terrified of him, which is why Valjean makes sure he’s the officer on duty at all the home football games.”

“Seems like you’ve got a nice support network here, then,” Combeferre said.

“It’s _great_ ,” Courf said. He led Combeferre up the stairs of the student section of the bleachers. “C’mon—my friends are right over here.”

Courf led him to the student section where three men were sitting—Courf introduced them as Jehan, Grantaire, and Feuilly. Combeferre was pleased to see Feuilly there. He’d known Feuilly for years since they often volunteered at the same places and Feuilly and Enjolras were in some sort of Mutual Admiration Society with each other. He felt more at ease now that Courf wasn’t the only person he knew—and it was a good sign that they already had a mutual friend. Grantaire had looked oddly familiar in that way that people you often saw at the grocery store did, but as they talked during the pre-game show, Combeferre and Grantaire couldn’t find any common ground or any place where they might have run into each other frequently. And Grantaire looked strangely uncomfortable the whole time, so Combeferre let the subject drop. He got the impression that Grantaire didn’t want the subject pushed.

Pre-game led into the first quarter, which bled into the second quarter, and Combeferre found himself in stimulating conversation with Jehan for most of the game. Jehan taught tenth grade English classes as well as a creative writing class that was open to all grades and they had similar taste in books. (“As much as I love the classics,” Jehan had admitted, “a lot of them aren’t really suitable for high schoolers—not because they’re not smart kids, but because the books are dry and boring and don’t seem relevant to their lives. I’m luck Valjean mostly lets me set my own reading lists—my kids get to read things like _Speak_ and _Out of the Dust_ and _Monster_ —new classics that make them feel and think—the discussions we have are amazing. It’s great.”) They had a lively discussion on which was the _best_ Terry Pratchett book—Jehan kept changing which book he thought was the best every few minutes—and then talked about the importance of getting kids to fall in love with reading.

By the time the marching band took the field for the half-time show, Combeferre realized that perhaps he should have been paying more attention to Courf. When he said as much, Courf just laughed.

“I knew you and Jehan would hit it off,” he said. “He’s my oldest friend—I like that you like him. Besides, you’ve kept him sufficiently distracted from Bahorel the whole night—and all of us are very grateful.”

Jehan had left them as soon as half-time started, and Combeferre spotted him at the fence between the stands and the field talking to a large man on the other side of the fence who wore a coach’s windbreaker.

“Does he talk about him often?” Combeferre asked. Courf had mentioned that there seemed to be some sort of budding romance between Jehan and Bahorel, but in his conversation with Jehan, he didn’t get the impression that Jehan was particularly vocal about matters of his own heart.

“Quite the opposite,” Feuilly offered. “Jehan doesn’t _talk_ about Bahorel—and Bahorel doesn’t talk about Jehan—but both of them do a lot of sighing and blushing and looking longingly into the distance.”

“It’s kind of sickening,” Courf added. “And embarrassing, because they neither of them realize how obvious they are.”

Grantaire nodded. “My AP kids gossip about it all the time—whether or not they’re actually a couple, all the reasons why they might _not_ be a couple, all the reasons they’re trying to keep their feelings a secret from each other. It’s a good way to start the morning.”

“The English and history departments have wagers on when they’ll start dating,” Courf added. “We talk about it in departmental meetings all the time before Bahorel shows up.”

Jehan returned at the beginning of the third quarter—a goofy smile and a blush on his face—and once he was settled, he and Grantaire and Feuilly wasted no time in chasing Combeferre and Courf away so they could have time to themselves.

“Go on,” Grantaire prompted. “We’re losing so badly that most of the kids have gone home. Feuilly and Jehan and I can keep an eye on those who’re left.”

Jehan nodded eagerly. “Go enjoy yourselves!”

Courf, it turned out, didn’t need much prompting, and he quickly grabbed Combeferre’s hand and tugged him down from the bleachers.

“Technically I am getting paid for this,” Courf said as they made their way to the concession stands, “so I don’t feel like I can leave, but it’ll be nice to have you all to myself again for a bit. I’m not used to sharing you—and I’m not sure I liked it.”

They wandered through the thinning crowd together, stopping at the concession stands where Courf made small talk with the woman running the register (apparently she was the mother of one of his students) and Combeferre bought some popcorn for the pair of them to share. He could get used to this, he thought as he and Courf meandered through the stadium. He could get used to listening to Courf talk—he seemed to have an endless supply of conversion pent up inside of him—and listening to Courf laugh and going to football games with him even though he didn’t care for the sport and holding Courf’s hand and kissing his mouth.

And then there was the matter of all the other things he wanted to do with Courf—but it was best not to think about that in public.

“You’re blushing,” Courf observed. They had wandered their way underneath the bleachers and Courf had chased away a couple of students who were smoking there. Now they had the space to themselves.

“Am I?”

Courf nodded. Then licked his lips. Combeferre had a hard time keeping his eyes away from Courf’s mouth. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, angling his body closer. “I want to know what makes you blush like that.”

Combeferre put his hands on Courf’s hips and pulled him close. “I was thinking of all the things I want to do to you,” he said, the seclusion of the bleachers granting him the confidence to be more forward than he normally was prone to be.

“Oh? I think that requires some elaboration,” Courf said.

“Not in public,” he said. “But I can at least give you sneak preview.”

He pulled Courf close to him, wanting to erase every iota of space between them. He ducked his head down for his lips to meet with Courf’s and he kissed with deliberate precision. The end of each kiss left Courf practically whining for more and the sound was intoxicating. He threaded his fingers through Courf’s curls and tugged gently. Courf positively moaned and the sound tipped Combeferre over the edge.

Combeferre pressed forward until Courf was braced against one of the supporting pillars of the bleachers and he forgot all about deliberate precision and instead kissed with unrestrained fervor, his lips seeking out every inch of skin he could reach, his hands groping for what his mouth couldn’t find. He rucked up Courf’s shirt, reveling in the smooth planes of his chest, his waist, and allowing his hands to dip further south. Courf’s hands had settled at Combeferre’s hips, always pulling him closer, holding him still as Courf rutted against him.

It wasn’t until Courf started groping for his belt that Combeferre’s sense returned.

He grabbed Courf’s wrist and directed his hand to safer territory on his waste. He pressed a chaste kiss to Courf’s lips, then his nose, then his forehead. “As much as I’d love to see what you wanted to do with my pants off, we can’t get carried away,” he said. “Not here, at least. Not now.”

“Come home with me,” Courf said. “We can get carried away there.”

“You…you don’t mean that,” Combeferre said, uncertain. He didn’t _think_ Courf meant that, at least. Didn’t think that Courf wanted to bring strange men to his home—to his son—without warning.

Courf groaned. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “When can I see you again? I need to see you again. I can’t wait another week for our schedules to clear up again. Breakfast tomorrow morning, maybe?”

Combeferre had the sudden image of cooking Courf breakfast in his house after Courf spent the night with him. He shook his head to clear the image. “I’ve got work in the morning,” he said. He tried to work at least two Saturdays a week because they were the only days most working parents could make appointments for their kids.

“Just as well,” Courf said, pouting. “I’ve got errands to take care of—maybe that night? You’re not working all day, are you?”

“I can do tomorrow night,” Combeferre said. He loved the eager and nervous smile that bloomed on Courf’ face.

“I might…” he paused, as though deliberating whether or not he wanted to continue. “I might be able to talk my mom or maybe Jehan into staying overnight at my place if you…if you wouldn’t mind me crashing at yours?”

That errant daydream of being able to cook breakfast for Courf in his house came back, but this time his mind focused on the image of Courf. In his bed. Naked.

“I definitely wouldn’t mind,” he said.

Courf’s smile became brighter. “I’ll—I’ll text you,” he said. “I might have to pull some strings for some overnight babysitting, but I’ll be there tomorrow night. I…I want this.”

“I want this too.”

* * *

 Courfeyrac could hardly sleep that night, but he didn’t feel tired by the time morning arrived and Lucas climbed into his bed to wake him up. Courfeyrac grinned at his little boy and tugged him underneath the blankets for a quick snuggle, despite Lucas’s protests that Daddy needed to get up because it was breakfast time and he wasn’t allowed to make breakfast by himself. He wondered when he’d introduce Lucas and Adrien. He was ready to spend the night at the man’s house and while there was a time when Courfeyrac had played fast and loose, he didn’t do so any longer. Overnight stays were more significant now, and he thought that Adrien probably agreed with him on that matter.

But because it was significant, because it was important—because _Adrien_ was important—that meant Courfeyrac wanted to introduce him to Lucas. He didn’t want Lucas getting attached to anyone who might not stay around—he already worried about what and how much Lucas may have internalized about his mother’s abandonment—but Adrien knew that. Adrien worked with kids, he’d know about attachment issues and he’d be responsible.

And Courfeyrac really didn’t see Adrien leaving him anyway. He didn’t know if he believed in forever kinds of relationships, but what he and Adrien had, what Courfeyrac felt for the other man…that was definitely more than a fling.

Deciding that he’d talk the matter over with Adrien tonight at dinner, Courfeyrac scooped Lucas up and carried him to the kitchen to make breakfast. He set Lucas down on the counter and set about making them eggs and bacon for breakfast—a rare treat, since he was normally so busy in the morning that he didn’t have time to do fancy breakfasts. Normally it was cereal or toast.

Lucas knocked his heels against the cupboard below his seat on the counter. “Why are you making fancy breakfast?” he asked.

“Because we deserve fancy breakfast,” Courfeyrac said, matter of fact. “And we’ll need lots of energy because we have lots to do today!”

“Like what?” Lucas wanted to know. He peered over the pan of sizzling bacon before Courfeyrac directed him to scoot back. He didn’t need to start the day with Lucas getting bacon grease splashed in his face.

“Well, you have a doctor’s appointment this morning,” he said—a fact he’d completely forgotten about when he proposed meeting up with Adrien this morning. That’s what he got for letting his mom set up the appointment. She was so desperate to help that he thought allowing her to set appointments for him would take a load off his shoulders. Apparently it just meant that he’d forget when things were scheduled for.

“Blech,” Lucas said. “Why do I always have to go to the doctor?”

“Because we’re trying to keep you healthy, buddy.”

“ _You_ don’t go to the doctor,” Lucas said.

“I go to the doctor every year,” Courfeyrac said. “I need to make sure that I’m healthy so that I can keep taking care of you.”

“But I have to go to the doctor lots of times,” Lucas said. “No one else has to go to the doctor lots of times.”

“No one else’s brains are as tricky as yours,” Courfeyrac said, tweaking Lucas’s nose. “I know it’s no fun to go to the doctor, buddy, but it’s been _weeks_ since you’ve had a seizure and that’s so good! We can go out to celebrate soon. And this is just a normal doctor visit. All the boys and girls your age have to see a doctor when they’re five years old to make sure that they’re healthy enough to go to school.”

“I don’t want to go.”

Courfeyrac flipped the bacon over, debating whether or not one was the time to be stern or whether it was okay to bribe Lucas right now. Deciding that if he had any hope of Lucas being appeased if Courfeyrac spent the night with Adrien instead of at home, bribery to sweeten his mood after the doctor’s appointment was a wise move.

“How about, after your doctor’s appointment, we can go anywhere you want for lunch,” he offered. He knew full well where Lucas was going to want to go.

And sure enough, Lucas’s eyes had lit up. “Even Pizza Palace?” he asked, not quite believing.

Pizza Palace was one of those miserable places with an indoor playset and a ball pit and animatronic rodents that played family-friendly rock music and pizza that tasted like cardboard. Courfeyrac had been a big fan of places like that himself when he was a kid, but then he’d worked at one for a summer and spent all his time cleaning all sorts of bodily fluids out of the tunnels in the playset from all the kids who peed or puked in them and he’d lost his desire to ever set foot in one ever again.

Still, this was for a good cause.

“Even Pizza Palace,” Courfeyrac said.

Lucas hopped down from the counter and started to do some sort celebratory dance/war chant about how excited he was.

Courfeyrac hurried to finish cooking breakfast and then made Lucas brush his teeth and get dressed. He thought about combing Lucas’s hair—dark and curly like his own—but it would only get messed up at Pizza Palace and Courfeyrac was going to make Lucas take a bath afterwards anyway. Better to not create a battle that he didn’t actually need to fight.

By the time they made it to the doctor’s office, Lucas had yet to stop talking about Pizza Palace for more than thirty seconds and Courfeyrac was beginning to regret his bribe. But he ushered Lucas into the waiting room and directed his attention the obligatory box of toys and books in the corner. These, unlike many of the toys and books he’d seen at countless other doctor or hospital waiting rooms, all appeared to be in good condition. Making sure Lucas was well-occupied, Courfeyrac went to the receptionist’s desk to check them in.

He offered the young woman behind the desk a charming smile. It always was a good idea to be charming and polite to receptionists. “Hi,” he said. “My son has an appointment with Dr. Combeferre.”

The young woman looked something up on the computer real quick and then looked up at him. “For Lucas de Courfeyrac?”

“It’s just Lucas Courfeyrac,” he said. “My mother set up the appointment and she always forgets that I dropped the _de_.”

“I’ll change that for you,” she said. “Go ahead and take a seat. Dr. Combeferre will be right with you.”

Courfeyrac took a seat and scrolled through his twitter feed while he waited. Only a few minutes had passed when a voice from the back hallway called and said, “Holly, you can go ahead and send them back now.”

Courfeyrac’s stomach dropped.

He knew that voice.

No. It wasn’t possible.

The receptionist gestured for Courfeyrac and Lucas to head down the hall and his fears were confirmed when he led Lucas into an exam room and found himself face to face with Adrien. With Dr. Combeferre. Dr. Adrien freaking Combeferre. _Shit._

Adrien looked as stunned as he did, staring open-mouthed at Courfeyrac, but then his gaze settled on Lucas and he snapped out of his momentary stupor.

“Hi,” he said, extending a hand to Lucas to shake. “I’m Dr. Combeferre. You must be Lucas.”

Lucas stared at him skeptically. “You’re not going to prick me, are you?”

“Well, I looked over the files that your old doctor sent to me about you, and it looks like you it looks like you’re up to date on your shots right now,” he explained, “so I won’t prick you today, but I might have to when you come back to see me again.”

Lucas sniffed—which Courfeyrac took to mean Lucas wasn’t entirely certain he would be coming back to see Adrien again—but then he shook his hand.

Adrien looked up at him. His smile looked strained. “And you must be Hugo,” he said, extending his hand to Courfeyrac.

There was a noticeably long pause as Courfeyrac tried to get his brain to play nice with his body. This was wrong. This was all wrong. His…his boyfriend couldn’t be Lucas’s doctor. That was…that was just nonsense. That was rom-com territory, and Courfeyrac’s life was not a romantic comedy. Adrien _couldn’t_ be Lucas’s doctor. There were probably rules about that kind of thing, about dating your kid’s doctor, but fuck rules. Courfeyrac hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, but…but Lucas. Lucas needed a good doctor that they could both trust. Lucas had to come first.

“It’s a pleasure, but please just call me Courf,” Courfeyrac said thickly, shaking his hand.

The same hand he’d held at the football game last night. The same hand that had fisted in his hair, tugging it in oh-so-perfect ways when they’d kissed last night.

Adrien held his hand longer than what was usual for a handshake, a small indication that he wasn’t as okay with this disaster as he was letting on. When he pulled his hand back, he turned his attention back to Lucas. “Do you think you could get up on that scale for me, Lucas?” he asked. “I’ve got some papers I need to get your dad to fill out for us.”

“Do I need to take my shoes off?”

“Nope, your shoes can stay on,” he said and he handed Courfeyrac a clipboard with familiar in-take forms. “Lucas’s file has already been sent over,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. Why wasn’t he freaking out? Courfeyrac could barely string two words together and Adrien was just…acting like nothing had happened. Like they were strangers. “I just need you to make sure everything is up to date.”

“Right,” Courfeyrac said.

Adrien’s eyes lingered, asking a dozen or more questions that he wasn’t saying out loud. Courfeyrac looked away, finding a distraction in the cold, clinical words of the new patient paperwork.

He took a seat so he could fill out the paperwork, carefully avoiding having to listen to the careful and gentle way that Adrien talked to Lucas—the way that Lucas _liked_ his doctor’s talking to him. Adrien answered all of Lucas’s curious little boy questions about the different things Adrien was having him do and why the results meant that he was healthy.

He tried not to think about how Adrien would talk to Lucas if they _hadn’t_ met in a doctor’s office. Tried not to think about how taken they’d be with each other in a social setting.

Instead, he focused on the paperwork, carefully filling in Lucas’s medical history. This couldn’t be happening.

How had he never thought to ask what Adrien’s last fucking name was?

When Adrien was done with Lucas, he gave the little boy a certificate, which he explained meant that Lucas as allowed to pick a special treat out of the treasure chest behind the receptionist’s desk. “Why don’t you go take a look at that while I talk to your dad about a couple things?”

Lucas didn’t need to be asked twice and he hurried out of the room.

“Fuck,” Courfeyrac said as soon as his son was out of the room.

Adrien leaned back against his desk in the corner of the room. “This wasn’t—I didn’t expect this.”

“And you think I did?”

“No—no, that’s not what I’m trying to say,” Adrien said. “I just…I wasn’t prepared for this.”

Courfeyrac dragged his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe this.”

Silence, heavy and tense, lingered between them.

Adrien was the first to break it. “You do realize…you know this means we can’t see each other anymore, right?”

The words went straight to his heart, invoking a sense of fear and panic that he’d only felt twice before—once just after Charlotte had left him and Lucas and again when Lucas started having seizures last year.

“Says who?” Courfeyrac asked. He sounded desperate, but he didn’t really care.

“Courf, it’d be highly unethical,” Adrien said. “You and Lucas both need to be able to trust me, to trust that I’ll be impartial, that my emotions won’t cloud my judgment. I need to be his _doctor_ , not his dad’s boyfriend!”

“Then we’ll get another doctor!” Courfeyrac said. “You must know someone—either from the hospital or whatever, right? You can’t be the only family doctor in New Castle.”

“I’ve been reading up on Lucas’s medical history all day,” Adrien said. “Dr. Adams did the right thing by sending you to me—not many doctors in this area have a lot of experience with difficult to treat seizure disorders. And even if there was someone else, Courf, your insurance isn’t that good. You’ve got minimum coverage and I’m at least equipped to help mitigate some of those expenses.”

He couldn’t believe Adrien. Their relationship was on the line, and he was talking about insurance coverage? Who the fuck did that?

“So it’s just over then?” Courfeyrac asked. “That’s it? We’re done?”

“I don’t think it’d be right for us to keep seeing each other,” Adrien said.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “No. I refuse to accept that. There’s not any hard and fast rules about this right? Like there’s not some secret doctor’s handbook that says you’re not allowed to date your patients’ parents? I mean, it’d be one thing if _I_ were your patient. I get that. That’d be bad, but…but you’re not treating me. You’re treating Lucas and doctors treat their own kids, right? That’s a thing that happens.”

“Courf—”

“Because I’m not going to lie to you—you are the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time and I can’t just…I can’t just give that up because of some stupid rules.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrien said. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“And what about tonight?” Courfeyrac asked. “We were supposed to spend the night together—and..and maybe we can’t do that anymore, but we could at least do dinner together, right?”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate.” His expression was calm. If he was at all agonizing over this, he wasn’t letting on and Courfeyrac wanted to hit him for it.

“So I’m just supposed to walk out of here and never see you again?”

“You’ll see me again—Lucas will need check ups—”

“That’s different and you fucking know it!”

Adrien stared at him with that same calm, close-off expression. “You and I both need to think what’s best for Lucas right now.”

Courfeyrac choked back the words about how much he _didn’t care_ about Lucas right now. He loved his son, but hadn’t he sacrificed enough for him yet? Hadn’t he given Lucas everything he had? Wasn’t it time for him to have something just for himself? “Just give me tonight,” Courfeyrac said. “I can’t—I need closure. I need to see you tonight, when we’ve both had some time to think everything over.”

“I can’t,” Adrien said. “There’s nothing to think over.”

Courfeyrac slammed his hand down on the corner of Adrien’s desk. “Look, I know how you said you don’t like having hard conversations, okay?” he said. “You said you’re no good at reading between the lines and you end up making a mess of things, so this is me telling you what I need, Adrien. This is me making sure that there are no lines that you have to read between—if what we have—had—means anything to you, you’ll give me tonight!”

Adrien looked away and Courfeyrac had his answer.

“Okay then,” Courfeyrac said.

“It’s not that I don’t care—”Adrien said.

“It’s fine,” Courfeyrac said. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

Adrien let out a heavy sigh. “I really am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t…this isn’t what I wanted.”

Courfeyrac nodded. The sooner he could get out of here, the sooner he could go home and rage about this in the privacy of his own home.

“You—on the new patient form, you mentioned that you’re having trouble getting Lucas to take his medication?” Adrien said. His voice was strained, like he was trying very hard to stay professional, to stay in doctor mode.

Good, Courfeyrac thought. He shouldn’t be the only one made to suffer through this awful twist of fate.

“That’s right,” he said.

“Start taking a multivitamin,” Adrien recommended. “Something generic that you can take when Lucas is supposed to take his medication. Kids his age love doing things their parents do. If you’re taking medicine when he does…it’ll help normalize it for him and it should get easier for you.”

“Thanks.”

Adrien nodded. “I…I know this isn’t ideal, but if you need help with Lucas, I’m still just a phone call away, okay?”

“Right,” he said, not looking Adrien in the eye as he fled the room. He needed to leave before he started to cry.

* * *

 As soon as Courf—Courfeyrac, it was best to think of him like that now, not Courf, not his boyfriend—was out of his office, Combeferre collapsed into a chair. He felt boneless and hollowed out. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to have Courfeyrac back to his place tonight. He’d already cleared it with Enjolras. Courfeyrac was supposed to stay the night—and do all the things that that normally implied. He’d hardly been able to sleep last night because all he could think about was the way Courfeyrac made his heart pound just by looking at him. And now…now it was good and ruined.

Had he even done the right thing? He’d done the ethical thing, he knew that. But he wasn’t sure if it was right. Courfeyrac had looked like he was about to cry when he left the room.

Combeferre pulled out his cell phone and looked up Joly, his old friend from the hospital, and hit the call button.

“Hey, Ferre,” Joly said. “No, Miranda, we don’t eat food before we pay for it. Sorry. I’m out shopping with the kids. What can I do you for?”

“I need some advice,” Combeferre said. He and Joly had been friends since he was in med school and he knew that Joly would tell him honestly if he was making a mistake. “Is there any chance I could talk to you after I get off work?”

“I’ve got the night shift at the hospital right now,” he said. “But we could probably do dinner before I start? There’s that cafe down the street from the hospital.”

“Bossuet and Chetta won’t mind?”

“They’ll be fine—we do family breakfasts instead of family dinners when I’ve got the night shift. I’ll see you at six?”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”

Combeferre counted the minutes till he was able to leave work and he was ashamed of himself at how hard it was to concentrate on his other patients. He had a responsibility to these people and he was letting his own heartache get in the way. But he couldn’t forget the devastated look on Courfeyrac’s face. He was always so expressive but Combeferre didn’t think he’d ever forget that expression. Or the way his voice shook with pain and anger. Or the way he looked betrayed when Combeferre couldn’t give him what he so desperately wanted and needed. Combeferre had never hated himself quite so much as did now.

When it was time to close up, he asked Libby, the nurse who worked with him, if she and Holly would be willing to close up the office for him and he wasn’t sure if she was just being amicable when she agreed or if she could tell that the situation with Courfeyrac was festering under his skin and he needed to get out of the office immediately.

By the time Combeferre showed up at the cafe by the hospital across town, Joly was waiting for him at a table and waved him over.

“How’s the family?” Combeferre asked, sliding into the seat across from Joly.

“I already ordered for us,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. And everyone’s doing fine—the kids are back in school so that makes everything a lot easier—but I doubt you wanted to meet up to talk about my family. What’s going on?”

Combeferre groaned. “Not going to let me work my way into it, are you?”

“Maybe if we had more time,” Joly said, shrugging.

Combeferre stared at the table as he explained the situation. The waitress had brought their food over by the time he finished. “I haven’t felt this way in a long time,” he confessed. “Maybe even ever. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I think I’m falling in love with Courf…and then his son turns out to be one of my patients. This is a complete nightmare.”

“Courf as in Courfeyrac?” Joly asked.

“You know him?”

“His son is in Miranda’s class,” he explained. “I met them at the open house last week. His son—Lucas, is it?—he’s sick, isn’t he? I noticed he was wearing a medical ID bracelet.”

Combeferre nodded. He’d skirted around the issue of Lucas’s epilepsy in deference to doctor-patient confidentiality, but it made things easier if Joly knew that Lucas wasn’t a typical child. “He’s not a normal patient. I can’t in good conscience just recommend that Courf just take his son somewhere else—so I told him I couldn’t see him anymore and I swear—Joly, the way he looked at me, it was like I’d ripped his heart right of his chest and that’s what it felt like I was doing to myself and I just—tell me I did the right thing. I just need to know that I did the right thing or I’m going to call him up and beg him to forget everything I just said.”

Joly reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “It’s a grey situation,” Joly said. “I mean, if Courfeyrac were your patient, yeah, without question you’d need to call it off, but he’s not your patient, his son is…but I still think you did the right thing. You definitely did the ethical thing, at any rate. I can tell this wasn’t easy for you, but at the end of the day, the patients have to come first. Courfeyrac will understand that in time—especially since his son is sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with the boy, but when you’re a parent, you get used to putting the kids first. I’m sure this hurts like hell for both you, but that’ll get easier in time. You did the right thing, Combeferre. My only advice now is to allow yourself to move on.”

He sighed and sank back against his seat. This wasn’t necessarily what he wanted to hear, but it was probably what he needed to hear. Lucas had to come first, just like he’d told Courfeyrac back at the office. “This sucks,” he said to Joly.

“I know.”

“Will you do me a favor, at least?”

“Anything,” Joly said.

“Just…just keep an eye on Courfeyrac for me?” Combeferre said. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but he doesn’t have many friends—not friends who have kids, at any rate. And with what Lucas is dealing with…they both need a better support network than what they’ve got.”

“Of course,” Joly said. “Miranda has already taken a liking to Lucas at school, so I’m sure I can get some play dates or something set up. I’ll make sure he’s okay for you.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“It’ll get easier,” Joly promised. “You just have to give this time.”

Unwilling to drag out this conversation any longer, Combeferre asked questions about Joly’s kids and Bossuet and Musichetta, and Joly knew him well enough to not question the abrupt change of topic. When they parted ways at the end of the meal, Joly clapped him on the shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile, but it didn’t make him feel better.

When Combeferre got to his car, he slumped in the driver’s seat. He had the day off tomorrow and he was pretty sure that his first appointment on Monday wasn’t until the afternoon. He could afford to spend the night getting drunk at home and be well enough for work on Monday. He normally wasn’t much of a drinker, but he wanted to put this whole mess behind him. He wanted to forget.

Getting wasted seemed like a good way to handle that.

Even if the effects were only temporary.

Before he pulled his car out of the parking spot, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Eponine.

“Do you still have the number for that lawyer you wanted to set me up with?” he asked when she answered.

“Why?” she asked. “Don’t you have Enjolras to help you out with any legal problems?”

“No,” he said. “It’s for…it’s for a date.”

There was a beat of silence. “What happened to your cute teacher friend?”

“His son is one of my patients,” Combeferre said flatly.

“Oh, Combeferre, I’m so sorr—”

“Don’t, please,” he said. “Just…just set up the date. I just want to forget this ever happened.”

“Of course,” Eponine said. “Are gonna be okay?”

“I’m headed home to go get drunk.”

“Okay.” There was no judgment in her voice, which he appreciated. He suspected Enjolras wasn’t going to be as understanding. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He hung up and headed for home. This day couldn’t be over soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. Sorry this chapter is late, folks. (And, uh, also sorry for any heartbreaking that may have happened.) For those who don't follow on tumblr, I was travelling at the beginning of the month and then I've had some health stuff act up, so getting around to this has taken MUCH longer than I anticipated. (For those concerned about health troubles, I promise that I'm okay and you don't need to worry. I'm just dealing with nausea as a side-effect of another thing and it's making it hard for me to get anything done.) 
> 
> So, all is well, and with some luck and hard work, I'll be able to get the next chapter up in September :D In the meantime, stay tuned on [ tumblr ](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for writing updates.


	8. Chapter 8

Courfeyrac sat at the table at Pizza Palace, only half-watching Lucas as he flitted from the ball pit to the slides to the arcade games. He was still reeling from seeing Adri—from seeing Combeferre at the office, from Combeferre’s swift and almost heartless dismissal of him.

It was wrong to call it heartless. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that. He knew that Adrien or Combeferre or whoever the hell he was had feelings for him and that he was probably just better at masking them than Courfeyrac was. Because who _wasn’t_ better at masking emotions than Courfeyrac was?

But that knowledge did little to assuage the despair and the loneliness that was settling over his skin.

He’d been left before. He’d been abandoned before. He’d had people cut him off cold before. This wasn’t a new experience for him and it wasn’t the sort of thing that hurt less the more times it happened. If anything, this hurt more. He let out a hollow sounding laugh and wondered if he should have accustomed himself to this by now. No one had been willing to stay before now. Why should Combeferre have been different?

And, like every time before, Combeferre left because of Lucas. At least now it wasn’t because he didn’t want to deal with a kid. Combeferre was just trying to do the _noble_ thing or some shit like that. But in the darker corners of Courfeyrac’s mind—the corners where he buried years of resentment at being forced to be a single parent and the anger and frustration towards his own father who never learned to properly give a damn—in those dark corners, Courfeyrac felt a cold resentment towards Lucas begin to fester. Lucas who seemed to be the reason that everyone always left him.

But he didn’t let himself dwell in that corner of his mind. Nothing good ever came from there.

And besides, Lucas was all he had now—and Lucas, at least, would never leave him.

He stayed alone at the table until his phone started to buzz with the daily reminder for Lucas’s evening meds.

Cursing under his breath that he’d let them stay here for _hours,_ he called Lucas over and helped him get his shoes back on before chasing him out the door and to the car. He ignored Lucas’s whining that he wasn’t ready to leave yet because they’d been at the Pizza Palace since lunch time and it was now going on seven o’clock in the evening.

Once home, he froze for a moment, trying to prioritize what needed to get done tonight even though his brain was stuck on a loop of _he left me, I’m alone again, he left me, I’m alone again_. Lucas needed a bath—who knew what sorts of germs he’d picked up in the ball pit alone—but he also needed to eat, and he _needed_ to take his medication, and Courfeyrac had some grading that needed to get done this weekend, and he really should clean the kitchen because it was a complete mess from this morning, and—

He took a few deep breaths, cutting off his panicky to-do list before it could get any bigger. First things first, Lucas needed dinner and his meds. He didn’t have the energy—or the brain capacity—to fix anything fancy (or particularly substantial) for dinner, so Lucas was going to have to be okay with a PB&J sandwich and some carrots sticks.

Lucas wasn’t.

When Courfeyrac had finally chased him to the kitchen table and gotten him to sit down, Lucas took one look at the humble offering before him and he pushed it away.

Courfeyrac dragged his hands through his hair and tried not shout. This was _not_ what he needed right now. “This is all we’ve got tonight, buddy,” he said.

“I want pizza.”

“You had pizza for lunch.”

“I want dinosaur nuggets.”

“We’re out of dinosaur nuggets. Eat your sandwich.”

“It’s yucky.”

“It’s peanut butter and jelly—it’s your favorite.”

Lucas shook his head. “Nuh uh. Dinosaur nuggets are my favorite.”

“Well, we don’t have those anymore, but you need to eat your sandwich. You still need to take your medicine tonight and it makes you sick when you take it on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t want my medicine!”

“ENOUGH, LUCAS!” He gritted his teeth, forced himself to count to ten so he didn’t lash out completely at his little boy. “Eat your sandwich,” he said, his voice harsher than intended—harsh enough that Lucas seemed to wilt away from him. “And then I’ll get you your medicine.” Another deep breath. His hands were shaking and his eyes were stinging with the beginning of tears. Dammit. Couldn’t this wait at least till Lucas was in bed? “I’m gonna get some fresh air for a minute. I’ll be right outside the door. Just…just please eat.”

He didn’t dare look at Lucas before he slipped out of the house. He pressed his back against the wall beside the door and forced himself to take several slow and deep breaths. He was going to break down eventually tonight. It was inevitable. He could feel it. He just needed to take care of Lucas first. Once Lucas was safe in bed, then he could spend the rest of the night crying into his pillow. And maybe after that, he’d feel okay enough to be functioning adult in the morning.

Courfeyrac didn’t know how long he’d been outside when the door opened. Lucas was framed by the light from the hall inside and he looked small and scared.

“Daddy?”

Courfeyrac wiped away the stray tears that had managed to escape and summoned a smile for his boy. “Did you finish eating?”

At least he didn’t sound angry anymore.

Lucas nodded. Then he paused, looking down at his feet for a minute. “Are you sad?” he asked, looking up.

Courfeyrac felt like all the wind was knocked out of him and had to blink back even more tears. He’d yelled at Lucas and all Lucas cared about was whether or not he was sad. He rarely felt as ashamed as he did now. He sat down next to the door and gestured for Lucas to come sit with him. “I’m a little sad,” he admitted, as Lucas snuggled up to him.

“Did I do something bad?”

“No,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Lucas’s head. “I’m not sad because of anything you did.”

“Was the doctor mean to you?” Lucas asked. “Because back at our old home, sometimes the doctors there weren’t very nice and you told me if the doctors were ever mean then we could find new ones.”

“No,” Courfeyrac said. “He wasn’t mean. He was very nice.” Too nice and too damned honorable, but how he could explain that to a five year old? “Did you like him?”

Lucas nodded. “His hands were warm and he had good treasures in his treasure chest.”

“Those are good qualities for a doctor,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m glad you like him.”

He tried desperately not to think of how Lucas would have liked Combeferre if they’d met under different circumstances, if Combeferre had been introduced to him as “Daddy’s boyfriend” and not his new doctor.

When the cold of the pavement began to creep through the fabric of his jeans, Courfeyrac nudged Lucas to his feet and herded him back inside. He made sure to give Lucas his medicine and then asked him if he wanted to take a bath before bed. He suspected that Lucas’s easy acceptance of the bath proposal had more to do with a desire to make Courfeyrac happy than any desire for cleanliness. His son was turning into a little people-pleaser, just like he was.

He hoped the world would be kinder to his son than it had been to him.

After the bath, Lucas insisted that he read Courfeyrac a bed time story—which consisted of very little reading. Mostly, Lucas just turned the pages of his favorite picture book and told the story to Courfeyrac as best as he could remember it. Lucas also insisted that Courfeyrac take his stuffed dinosaur with him when he left the room.

“He always makes me feel happy and since you’re sad, you should have him for tonight,” Lucas explain. “But only tonight, because I’ll miss him.”

Courfeyrac took the stuffed toy and kissed the top of Lucas’s head again. “You’re the best kid in the world,” he said. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

He spent the rest of the night on the couch, cuddling Lucas’s dinosaur and a pillow, watching whatever boring documentaries he could find on Netflix, and allowing himself to cry. He thought about calling Jehan, seeing if he could come over so Courfeyrac wouldn’t have to nurse his broken heart alone, but he thought better of it. It was still early on a Saturday night. Hopefully, Jehan was out somewhere with Bahorel—being romantic and enjoying all the pleasures of an adult relationship. He didn’t need Courfeyrac and his stupid broken heart to bring him down.

For a fleeting moment, he thought about going over to his parents’ house and raiding their liquor cabinet because then at least he’d have something to dull the pain, but he’d sworn to himself a long time ago that he wouldn’t drink when he was home alone with Lucas. There’d been a rough patch when Lucas had started teething and Courfeyrac was still learning how to be a single parent and he’d been drinking way more than he should have.

Courfeyrac wasn’t proud of his parenting from those days and he wasn’t going to repeat them.

Still, it would have been nice to have some alcohol to numb the pain. All he had was the sound of David Attenborough’s voice to shield against the crippling sense of loneliness that settled over Courfeyrac like a cloak.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac woke the next morning to the sound of sharp knocking on his front door. Bleary eyed, he glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even seven in the morning. He could already feel the first stirrings of a headache and he was sure that his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from having spent most of the night crying. He rolled over on the couch, pulling the pillow over his ears and hoping that whoever was knocking would just…go away.

No such luck. The knocking increased in frequency and when it finally stopped, Courfeyrac heard the door open.

“Hugo? Hugo, where are you?”

His mother. Of course she would break into the house at dawn. He groaned and buried his face in the couch cushions. Maybe she would realize how ridiculous she was being and leave on her own.

And then he felt someone tug the pillow from off his head. “Hugo, why didn’t you answer the door? Are you hungover?”

“I’m not hungover, Mom. Do you even know what time it is?”

“Your sister’s going to be here in an hour and you weren’t answering your phone,” she said.

Courfeyrac sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. He hoped his mom wouldn’t notice his puffy eyes—or at least be tactful enough not to say anything. “What does Josie coming have to do with me not answering my phone?”

“Well, she wants to see you and Lucas, of course,” she said. “And she and Richard are bringing the kids—you haven’t even met their youngest yet.”

“Didn’t you say that they’re staying the whole day?” he asked, trying to remember what exactly his mother had said about Josie coming for a visit when she mentioned it earlier in the week. “Why do I need to be up right now?”

“We’re having breakfast together. I told you that.”

“Please don’t tell me you and Dad expect us to dress for breakfast,” he said. “I can promise that Lucas and I won’t show up in our pajamas, but that’s about it.”

“Of course we don’t expect you to dress for breakfast,” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous, but we have the whole day planned—”

“The whole day? Mom, I can’t—”

“You haven’t seen your sister in _ages_ and David is going to try to stop by—”

“Mom, the house is a mess, I’ve got a stack of tests to grade, lesson plans to take care of, and Lucas to entertain during all of that—”

“Lucas can play with his cousins,” she said.

“He hasn’t seen Josie’s kids since he was two,” he said, which had been the last time Courfeyrac had spent the holidays with his family. It had been enough of a disaster that he swore he would never spend Christmas with his family again if he could help it. “He’s not going to remember her kids at all.”

“All the better reason for him to spend some quality time with them!” she said. She gave him a long look, undoubtedly taking in his disheveled hair, puffy eyes, and the fact that he was still in jeans and a t-shirt instead of pajamas. “I understand that you have other responsibilities, Hugo, and I promise that you can sneak away during the day to take care of whatever you need to, but please at least commit to spending a few hours with us—and let us entertain Lucas for you. You know you’ll be more productive if you don’t have to worry about him.”

“Fine,” Courfeyrac said. “Josie’s gonna be here at eight?”

“That’s what she said.”

Josie was chronically early for everything, so Courfeyrac expected that she’d probably be here closer to 7:30. “Lucas and I will be over at eight,” he said. “But I need to shower and get Lucas up.”

“Of course,” she said, taking the hint. “If Josie’s early, I’m sure I can keep her from barging over here and bothering you until you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he said.

After his mother let herself out of the house, Courfeyrac showered before waking up Lucas. The medication Lucas was on made him groggy and irritable in the morning—especially if he didn’t get enough sleep—so Courfeyrac wanted to let him sleep as long as he could. And besides, he wanted a nice, hot, _peaceful_ shower, hoping that the spray of hot water against his neck and shoulders would do something for his budding headache.

It didn’t.

He roused Lucas (who was predictably grumpy) and then went to get dressed while Lucas got over the worst of his grumpiness by thumping around his room. By the time both of them were dressed and Courfeyrac had managed to coax Lucas to take his morning dose of medicine along with some toast, it was eight and Courfeyrac knew if they didn’t hustle across to the yard to his parents’ house, then no force on earth would keep Josie from bursting into the pool house looking for him.

She was rather like their mother that way.

When they got to the house, he found Josie in the kitchen with their mother and Rosa, the housekeeper/cook who had worked for his parents since he was in middle school—and despite the many years Rosa had worked for his parents, it sounded like his mother still hadn’t learned not to try to micromanage her as she put the finishing touches on a fruit salad. Meanwhile, Josie nagged at their mother to let Rosa do her job in peace, but as soon as Josie spotted Courfeyrac, she threw threw her hands in the air and shouted, “Hugo!”

She bustled over to him and wrapped him up in a hug, her exuberance startling Lucas so much that he hid himself behind Courfeyrac’s legs. When Josie let go of him, he nudged Lucas forward.

“Lucas, do you remember your Aunt Josie?” he asked, knowing that there was no way Lucas actually remembered her. But he made a point of showing Lucas pictures of his aunt and uncles and cousins often enough so that Lucas would at least recognize his extended family even if he didn’t know them.

Lucas nodded, but he still eyed Josie skeptically which made her laugh.

“Considering he lives with you, I’d have assumed he was used to this kind of energy,” she said.

“Not before breakfast,” Courfeyrac said.

“Always were a lump in the morning,” she said. She squatted down in front of Lucas and she gentled her smile for him. “I’m your Aunt Josie,” she said. “And I promise I’m not as crazy as I seem. Do you want to go into the other room and see your cousins? They’re really excited to see you again!”

The prospect of seeing someone closer to his own age seemed to put Lucas at ease and he accepted the hand Josie held out to him and allowed her to lead him into the other room.

“I told you she wanted to see you,” his mom said once Josie was out of earshot.

“I didn’t doubt you,” he said. “I just don’t know why she insists on doing everything so _early_.”

“It’s not that early,” she said. She hesitated, then asked, “Is everything all right?”

He’d hoped that when she left his place this morning without commenting on his appearance that he’d escape her scrutiny entirely. Apparently not. “Rough night, but I’m fine.” Before she could say anything he more, he draped his arm over her shoulders and steered her towards the dining room. “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Places had already been set at the table in the formal dining room, with one end being reserved for Josie’s two kids and Lucas. Josie was busy helping the kids settle in and Courfeyrac was pleased to see that Lucas was already at ease and all the kids seemed to be getting along with each other. Josie’s baby—the niece Courfeyrac had yet to meet—was sound asleep in a carrier tucked in the corner of the room. The other end of the table had been set for the adults with more expensive (and breakable) dishware and his mother’s fanciest silverware. His dad was talking to Richard, Josie’s husband, about stocks or something equally boring. Courfeyrac didn’t bother to pay much attention, knowing he’d be bored to tears by the conversation anyway.

Once everyone was seated and Rosa had brought out the last of the food from the kitchen, everyone tucked in and started catching up with each other. For once, Courfeyrac was grateful that his father was so uncomfortable about his sexuality because it reduced the risk that someone was going to ask him about Adri—Combeferre during the meal. Instead Josie led the conversation, as she usually did. When people met Courfeyrac, they often assumed that he was the exuberant one in his family. That he was the most social, the most outgoing, the one who was always the center of attention, but Courfeyrac always felt that title belonged to his sister. Sure, they were both outgoing and affable—as was their brother, David—but within the family, Josie was far more of a peacekeeper than Courfeyrac was. Once he was old enough to have opinions that differed from his parents’, he was constantly getting into fights with them. He was too temperamental when he thought other people were wrong and his relationships with his family members suffered for it.

But while Josie was more likely to agree with Courfeyrac than with their parents, she was far more diplomatic about it—which was good for her, Courfeyrac thought, because she had married into a family even more conservative than their own. Josie made jokes about the disagreements she got into with her in-laws, but the jokes were never mean-spirited and Courfeyrac always had the impression that Richard’s parents were fond of their daughter-in-law, even if they did think she was a little misguided.

Among their own family, Josie knew how to gently steer the conversation away from topics that would cause an argument. No politics. No economics. No sports when David was around. She stuck to gossip about old family friends and amusing anecdotes about her kids and barely anyone else could get a word in edgewise. Josie kept them all at the table long after the meal was over, telling story after story, and it wasn’t until the baby woke up and started crying that Josie let everyone escape from the table. While she went into the other room to feed the baby—Courfeyrac felt ashamed that he couldn’t remember his own niece’s name—their parents excused themselves and Richard ushered all the kids out into the yard to play in the leaves that had started to fall from the trees. He’d invited Courfeyrac to come help, but Courfeyrac declined to stay alone at the table.

While last night, he’d been hurt and crying, today he just felt numb and having to force smiles and laughter for his family had started to wear on him. It was better to have a couple of minutes to himself where he didn’t have to perform for anyone.

Of course, solitude also meant that he didn’t have anything to distract him and it wasn’t long until his mind had found it’s way back to Adrien and he couldn’t help but think how different the breakfast would have been with Adrien in attendance. There’d probably have been a little awkwardness from his father, but his mom and Josie would have gone out of their way to make Adrien feel welcome and Courfeyrac would have steered the conversation away from all that dreadful small talk that Adrien hated so much. Adrien would be nervous at first—just like he was the other night at the football game—but he would have relaxed and enjoyed himself. And he would have fit with Courfeyrac’s family—or at least with his mom and Josie—and Courfeyrac knew his nieces and nephew and Lucas would adore him.

Too bad he’d never get to see that scene play out in real life.

He was jarred from his thoughts—his treacherous and not remotely useful thoughts—when Josie came back into the dining room, cradling her baby in her arms.

“Everyone left you,” she said.

“Story of my life,” he muttered.

But Josie tutted at him and sat down next to him. “Do you want to hold her?” she asked, holding the baby out towards him.

Courfeyrac lifted the bundle of baby and blankets from his sister’s arms and cuddled her close to his chest. She was tiny and precious and warm. It’d been years since he last held a newborn. She blinked at him sleepily, already tired from her breakfast.

“What’s her name again? I know you’ve told me but—”

“But I think you’ve had enough on your plate in the last year to remember things like the name of a baby you’ve never met,”Josie said. “I understand. Her name’s Corina. She’s about nine weeks old now.”

Courfeyrac nudged Corina’s hair with his nose, getting a whiff of that undefinable newborn smell. Corina yawned and scrunched her face at him, looking remarkably like her mother in the process. “I forgot how tiny newborns are,” he said. “She’s adorable.”

“Of course she is,” she said. “She takes after her mother that way.” Then Josie sighed. “She’s probably going to be my last baby so I’m trying to savor it.”

“What—Richard’s parents haven’t convinced you to have a little army of babies?”

Josie snorted. “They’ve tried. I made Rich sit them down and explain that the decision to have more kids or not was ours and ours alone and they needed to keep their noses out of it. What about you? Are you going to give Lucas a little brother or sister?”

“I’d love to have another kid,” he said honestly. As hard as it was being a dad, he loved it and were circumstances different than what they were, he’d want nothing more than to give Lucas a hoard of younger siblings. “But that’s not really on the table right now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, I’m not exactly equipped to spontaneously create life by myself,” he said dryly.

Josie rolled her eyes at him. “There’s always surrogacy or adoption.”

“Like I have the money to afford either of those.”

“Mom mentioned that you were dating someone before you came over,” she said. “You could have another baby _au naturel_.”

“Mom neglected to mention that the person I was seeing was a man, didn’t she?”

Josie’s eyebrows jumped up. “Yeah, she seemed to forget that little detail. What did Dad have to say about that?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter now, seeing as how he broke up with me yesterday.”

“What? Oh, Hugo, no. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged off her sympathy. “It was probably inevitable anyway.”

“Hugo, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Really? Then why do they always leave?” he snapped. Regretting his rapid descent into self-pity, he immediately back pedaled. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. I just need a few days to get over it.”

The look Josie gave him suggested that she knew full well that this was more than a normal breakup and that it’d take more than a few days to get over it. “Can I ask what happened?” she said. “And who this guy is so I can go and kick his ass for you?”

“It’s not his fault. You don’t need to kick his ass.”

“Hugo, you are clearly upset about this. How is that not his fault?”

“Because he wouldn’t have broken up with me if he’d felt there was another option,” he said. Quickly, he explained the whole mess to her, carefully glossing over the devastation he felt.

“And you can’t just…find another pediatrician?” Josie asked.

“It’s not that easy for us. Adrien—Dr. Combeferre was recommended to me by my pediatrician back in Rochester. He’s got experience working with different types of epilepsy and Lucas and I really need that.”

Josie gave him a sympathetic look. “At least you have the comfort of knowing you found a really great guy this time, because you’ve dated some real losers in the past.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he snapped again. “Because yeah, he is a great guy—and I don’t get to date him. I find this man who is practically perfect, and I have to give him up because my kid needs a good doctor. Once again, Lucas is coming between me and having a fulfilling adult relationship.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“Can you cut the judgment? Yeah, I know none of this is Lucas’s fault. It’s not his fault he’s sick. It’s not his fault I fell in love with his doctor. It’s not his fault that the doctor is probably the most ethical man in the country! None of it is any body’s fault, but can I at least be allowed to feel like shit and harbor a little resentment for the moment? Can I have that much?”

“Being resentful of Lucas isn’t going to do either of you any good.”

“I _know_ that, Josie, which is why I was trying to vent to you instead of letting this build up until I accidentally took this out on him!”

In his arms, Corina shifted made a quiet but distressed noise, reminding him that he should probably keep his voice down. He gently bounced her in his arms until she settled down again.

“I wouldn’t trade Lucas for anything in the world,” he said quietly, looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms and remembering all the days and nights he used to hold Lucas like this. All the nights when holding Lucas was the only comfort he had. “And I’d do _anything_ for him—and it sucks enough that there’s already so much I can’t do for him, so much I can’t give him. I had to move back in with Mom and Dad because I couldn’t keep a roof over his head otherwise, okay? I’m not exactly winning Father of the Year over here. And it sucks that on top of that, I can’t maintain any sort of romantic relationship. Have you ever thought of what you’d do without Richard? About how you’d manage to take care of your kids without someone there to help take care of them _and_ you? And normally, I can get over the rejection pretty quickly because I don’t anyone in my life who doesn’t also want Lucas there, but Adrien was someone who understood all that. I was going to introduce him and Lucas soon. I was going to have someone who was good for me, who helped me, who made me feel like I can deal with all the shit life has thrown at me—but now I don’t get that anymore. Just once I’d like to not have to give up _everything_ for Lucas. For once, I’d just like to keep something for myself—but once again, that’s not something I get to have anymore.”

Josie didn’t say anything after his speech—in large part, he suspected, because there was nothing _to_ say. Nothing could possibly make this better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks! Sorry it's been so long! Yikes! It's been like two and a half months and I am SO SO SORRY! For those of you who don't follow me on tumblr, I had to take September off because my health was still really awful, but I'm slowly getting better! I'm having more good days than bad at this point and I was DETERMINED not to let another month pass without another update. (For those of us on the west coast in the US, there are still several hours left of October, thank you very much.) 
> 
> I am planning on using NaNoWriMo in November to try and get a lot of writing work done on this fic, but because my health issues aren't exactly going away (they're becoming more manageable, but they're here to stay it looks like), I have made the difficult decision to streamline this fic a little. I was really hoping that I'd the chance to delve into more of the side characters and their relationships as the story developed, but I just don't think I'd be able to do any of this fic justice if I did that. (Luckily, a lot of those sort of side stories haven't really started yet, so you don't know what you're missing--but I still feel bad!) With any luck, I'll be able to write some of those side stories as companion pieces to this one once it's finished, but I can't make any promises on that account. Right now my priority (other than managing my health issues) is to get this fic finished and to try to continue to post once a month!
> 
> Thank you all so so so so much for your patience and your support--especially to those of you who've encouraged me and sent me well-wishes on tumblr. It means so much to me! The next chapter should be up around the end of November and until then, feel free to check my [ tumblr ](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for writing updates!


	9. Chapter 9

Combeferre stared at the man seated across the table from him. Was he really telling this story again? It’d been a month since he’d last seen or heard from Courf and this was Combeferre’s third date with Matthew, the lawyer he had Eponine set him up with, and he was telling the same anecdote about some court room escapade that made Matthew look terribly clever and everyone else look incredibly incompetent for at least the fourth time since their first date weeks ago. Matthew was a nice enough man (even if he couldn’t keep track of who he’d told what stories to). He was pleasant, good looking, fairly considerate, intelligent—but Combeferre wasn’t particularly enamored with him. Matthew was boring. He was usually more interested in hearing himself talk than getting to know Combeferre. He had no sense of humor to speak of.

Plainly put, he wasn’t Courf.

But Combeferre didn’t let himself entertain that thought because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him or to Matthew or to Courf to make those kind of comparisons. Courf was officially off limits and he would remain off limits as long as Lucas was his patient and even though he’d much rather be sharing this meal with Courf—well, it wasn’t fair to compare Matthew to that sort of perfection.

He couldn’t be with Courf, so he needed to learn how to be happy with someone else, even if it didn’t feel like that was going to be possible.

When Matthew finished his anecdote, Combeferre forced himself to laugh, which made Matthew smile, and Combeferre tried very hard to pretend he wasn’t wishing for Courf’s smile instead.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac spent his prep period alone in his classroom. He should be grading tests and filing papers, but he really just wanted to sit and do nothing for an hour. He’d thrown himself into his work in the last month. His kids here at the school and Lucas were all he allowed himself to think about—they were the only things that kept his mind off the heartbreak he still felt a month after Combeferre had called it quits.

He hadn’t grieved a lost relationship like this since Charlotte left him.

Sitting down at his desk—the first time he’d really sat down all day—he woke up his computer and scrolled through his music to find something soothing and distracting to listen to for a little while. Maybe he could turn off the lights and lock his door and take a nap at his desk. If any of his students came by looking for him, they’d assume that he was running errands in another part of the school or in a meeting perhaps. Sleeping on the job felt dishonest, but even just a twenty minute nap would help him feel a little more human. Lately, he spent most of his nights staying up till odd hours grading or planning lessons. During the hours before Lucas went to bed, Courfeyrac preferred to spend time with his little boy—the primary source of joy in his life. Lucas was starting to get the knack of reading and Cosette sent him home with flimsy little early-reader books with sight words and bright colorful pictures. The kids got a sticker for every book they read with a parent, and Lucas wanted to have the most stickers in the class. Courfeyrac was happy to spend his evenings curled up on the couch with Lucas, helping him sound out words.

After Lucas went to bed, though, that was when Courfeyrac was left alone with his own thoughts and fears and heartache. He tried to take up as much of his nighttimes as he could with grading and lesson planning, but that only worked for so long and he found he had trouble sleeping when he did turn in for the night.

He felt like he was running on empty now, only kept upright by the sheer momentum of his day.

Surely a little nap at school wouldn’t be so bad…

Except before he could get up to lock his door, Grantaire opened it and let himself inside. He bore two cups of coffee and his usual self-deprecating grin.

“I saw you at the faculty meeting this morning,” Grantaire said, setting one of the coffee cups down so he could lock the door behind him. If a student needed in, they could just knock. “I figured you’d need a mid-afternoon pick-me-up to get through the day.”

Courfeyrac made a grabby motion at the cup of coffee. “You have no idea,” he said.

He and Grantaire had their prep periods at the same time and it wasn’t uncommon for Grantaire to stop by and pass the time in Courfeyrac’s class room and Courfeyrac rarely minded the company. He took a sip of the coffee Grantaire handed him and grinned. “Oh man, you got the good stuff.”

“I am a connoisseur of the finer things in life,” Grantaire said. “And the shit they serve in the teacher’s lounge barely passes as a beverage. It’s certainly not worthy of an afternoon pick-me-up.”

Courfeyrac asked how much he owed him for the coffee and Grantaire waved it off, not bothering to answer, and instead asked Courfeyrac if he’d heard the latest gossip about two teachers in the math department who were currently in a heavy feud over a set of graphing calculators that the math department shared. Grantaire barely even waited for Courfeyrac to answer before launching into a wildly dramatized version of the latest graphing calculator altercation.

This what Courfeyrac appreciated most about Grantaire. He didn’t push. He never pushed—he merely offered good company and friendly distractions. Courfeyrac’s friends among the faculty knew that he and Combeferre had had some sort of falling out, but Grantaire never asked him about it. Never asked how he was holding up, never asked if he was starting to date again. In the early days, Jehan had asked—several times—and he seemed to understand now that the curt answers he received meant that Courfeyrac didn’t want to talk about it, but Courfeyrac could tell that Jehan still wanted to talk about it. (Jehan was a very firm believer in talking things out, and normally Courfeyrac would be inclined to agree, but this whole mess with Combeferre still felt too raw and felt too similar to the anguish he’d felt when Charlotte left him and he wasn’t about to bring up all of that if he could avoid it.) It made hanging out with Jehan tense, even though Jehan was his oldest friend.

But there was none of that tension with Grantaire. He seemed to understand that some demons were better left ignored and when he came to see Courfeyrac, he was always armed with enough anecdotes and rants to distract them both.

By the time the bell rang to signal the end of the period, Courfeyrac was still tired, but at least in better spirits. This next class was his favorite, anyway. The kids weren’t perfectly behaved, but they were sharp and clever and asked interesting questions, and several of them were downright hilarious. Funny kids who knew when to settle down. Kids who trusted him as a teacher not to overreact to harmless practical jokes. It was his favorite sort of class.

The kids filed in in groups, all chattering about the upcoming homecoming football game and dance this weekend. He let them chatter with each other for a minute or two as he organized his lesson notes and when he got to his feet and went to the front of the classroom, they all settled down pretty quickly. His classes had started their unit on the American Civil War the week before and today he had to explain the next stage of a series of group projects he’d had the class working on on and off since their unit on the American Revolution. The class was divided into two groups to represent the northern and southern states and next week the groups would be giving presentations on why new states in the Union should or should not be allowed to be slave states. He never sugar coated slavery and the racism that drove it—he talked openly about the horrors of the slave trade even when he had parents call and complain—but he also wanted his students to have a nuanced understanding of the world and to understand all the other factors—from economics to states rights—that played into the Civil War. He hoped it would make them look for nuances when they were faced with the complexities of the world.

After he explained the presentations to the class and went over the rubric they’d be graded on, he let them get to work, circling around the room to answer questions as his students had them. He was helping some of the kids from the southern half of the class understand the antebellum south’s economic reliance on slavery—and how that lead to generations of ridiculous justifications of racism and slavery—when the phone rang at the back of the class.

As he normally did when he was in the middle of teaching, he let it ring. Probably just someone from the office calling to check on something. If the attendance office needed a student to be excused, they’d call over the PA system when he didn’t answer. Instead, when the ringing stopped, there was a momentary pause, and then it almost immediately started ringing.

He looked up from the textbook he was using to help explain his point and spotted his favorite student—a spunky, inquisitive kid named Gavroche—near the back of the room.

“Gav,” he hollered over the noise of the group work. “Would you get the phone?”

Gavroche saluted him, hopped off the desk he was sitting on top of, and hurried to answer the phone.

“Mr. Courfeyrac’s class,” he heard Gavroche say. (Gavroche was one of the few students who’d learned to pronounce Courfeyrac’s last name instead of just calling him Mr. C. Courfeyrac suspected it was because he’d taken the time to learn to pronounce Gavroche’s first and last names properly.) “Student speaking.”

Courfeyrac turned his attention back to his students and the textbook, until a moment later, Gavroche was standing by his side.

“It’s someone from the elementary school,” Gavroche said when Courfeyrac looked up at him.

Lucas.

He felt the blood rush from his face and he nearly shoved Gavroche aside in his rush to get to the phone.

“This is Courfeyrac,” he said. “Who is this?”

He couldn’t help the frantic tone of his voice. An ominous hush settled over his classroom and he could feel his students’ eyes on him.

“Mr. Courfeyrac, this Shari,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m the nurse over at the elementary school.”

“Is Lucas okay?”

His heart thudded loudly in his chest. He was surprised he could hear the woman speak over the noise.

“Lucas had a seizure in class.”

“Is he okay?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

“He’s shaken up,” she said, “but he’s okay. His teacher timed the seizure—it was under a minute long and he’s not hurt at all. He wants to go home, but since he’s not sick or injured, we have to check with a parent before we can send him home.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” he said. “My mother is listed on the emergency contact forms. She can come pick him up. Can I talk to him?”

“Just a moment,” she said. He heard her murmur something to Lucas.

“Daddy?” Lucas’s voice was small and timid. Courfeyrac could tell he’d been crying and he choked back a wave of tears himself.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and steady. “How’re you feeling?”

“I wanna go hoooooome.”

“I know, buddy. I know. The nurse is gonna call Grandma for you, okay? She’s gonna take you home. You’re going to be just fine, okay?”

“Why can’t you pick me up?”

“I’m at work, buddy.” He wiped at his eyes, ashamed of the tears that were starting to fall. “I have to stay until the end of school, but then I’ll come home right away, okay? Grandma will be with you the whole time.”

“You’ll come home right away?”

“As soon as the bell rings,” he promised. He glanced at the clock. He still had three hours left of work. “Have Grandma put on a Disney movie for you, okay? I’ll be home in the time it takes you to watch two Disney movies.”

Lucas sniffed on the other line. “Okay.”

“Everything is going to be okay, buddy, I promise. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Lucas.”

“Love you, too.”

And then the line went dead.

Courfeyrac held the phone to his ear for a minute, listening to the bland sound of the dial tone and desperate trying to remember how to breathe. Mechanically, he hung up the phone and turned back to his class. His students were all watching him with looks of confusion and concern.

“I—I have to go,” he said numbly. “I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for a response, he fled the classroom.

His feet led him to Jehan’s classroom—a place where he knew he’d find the support he needed right now. Jehan had a prep period this hour and when Courfeyrac burst into the classroom, he found Jehan sitting on his desk with Bahorel leaning in close, as though they were about to kiss. Or perhaps they had been kissing and Courfeyrac interrupted them.

Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He pressed his back against the door and tried not to cry.

Jehan hopped off the desk. “Courfeyrac, what’s wrong?”

He explained the situation, the words tumbling from his mouth without any sense of order because Lucas wasn’t supposed to have any more seizures. The medication was supposed to stop it all. Lucas was supposed to be okay now, but he wasn’t okay and Courfeyrac’s mind couldn’t make sense of any of it.

As he spoke, Jehan took him by the arm and gently steered him towards a chair. Bahorel slipped out to cover Courfeyrac’s class until he regained his composure.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac said as he finished, angrily wiping at tears that wouldn’t stop falling “I didn’t mean to break down like this.”

“It’s okay,” Jehan said. “You don’t have to be strong for me, you know. This is hard for you.”

“I just—I thought we were out of the woods. He’s been doing so well on this new medication and I thought this whole nightmare was over.”

“I know.”

“And I hate this so much. The longer this goes on—the harder this is to treat—it’s just more and more likely that we’ll never find something that works. And the more seizures he has—it could damage his brain, he could die! He’s all I have!”

Jehan put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

“And I can’t even be there for him! I’m stuck here at work when my baby needs me!”

“Courf, it’s okay if you need to go home,” Jehan said. “You can get a sub to come in—or your friends will take turns covering your classes. The day’s almost over. You can go home if you need to. I know your last school gave you a hard time about taking off like this, but Valjean will understand.”

“It’s too much right now,” he said. He took a shuddering breath. The idea of talking to his boss, of trying negotiate for some time off, was daunting. His last principal threatened to fire him every time he needed time off or had to leave work early. “Everything is just too much and I can’t do this right now.”

“You’ve been doing this alone for so long,” Jehan said, “but we’re all here for you. You don’t have to shoulder this all by yourself like you did in Rochester. We can pick up your slack here—and none of us will think any less of you for it.”

He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands.“I just hate all of this so much, you know? Why does if have to be Lucas who suffers? He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not like life isn’t hard enough for him already. Why couldn’t I have been sick instead of him? Why does it it have to be him? Why can’t I just take care of him properly?”

Jehan just held him closer and murmured soft words of comfort, letting Courfeyrac pour out all the bitter words and resentment he had about his situation. Once he had calmed down, Jehan pulled away and handed him a box of tissues.

“I think you should go home,” he said.

“I—”

“Don’t argue,” Jehan said, using his stern voice. “There’s only three hours left of school, and I know you. You’re going to be worthless for the rest of the day because you’ll—rightfully—be worried about Lucas. You and he both need you to be home right now. You’ll both be better off for it. So don’t play the martyr, okay? Bahorel will cover the rest of your class right now, and we can go down to Valjean’s office together and tell him what’s happened and I’ll help you find a sub. There’s no need for you to stay.”

Courfeyrac blew his nose and nodded. “Thanks,” he said, looking down at the tissue box in his hands.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “This is what friends do. Call me if you or Lucas need anything tonight, all right?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Jehan walked with him down the office—thankfully empty of students at the time—and once they had everything sorted with Valjean (who, as Jehan predicted, was more than understanding of the situation), Courfeyrac drove straight home.

At home, he found Lucas dozing on the couch, his head resting in his grandmother’s lap as she stroked his hair. She looked up at him when she heard the door shut.

“I thought you weren’t going to be home till the end of the school day,” she said.

“I decided it’d be better to get a sub and come home. Lucas sounded really shaken up.”

“He was rather disoriented when I picked him up,” she said. “Is that…is that normal?”

“Yeah, unfortunately it is.”

He squatted down in front of the couch, needing to see Lucas with his own eyes. He kept track of the rhythm of Lucas’s breathing, reassuring himself that his son was still with him. He wished Lucas was awake, but knew better than to try to wake him. Lucas was always tired after a seizure. He’d probably be in and out of sleep for the rest of the night.

“I thought his medication had this under control.”

“I did, too,” Courfeyrac said.

“Did you miss a dose?”

He looked up from Lucas and gave her an irritated look. “We’ve been dealing with this for a year now,” he said. “I make sure we don’t miss doses.”

“Then why did he have a seizure?”

“I don’t know, Mom!” he snapped. “Maybe the medication’s not working! Maybe he’s stressed about something! Maybe this is just a fluke! How am I supposed to know what caused this?”

“I understand that you’re upset, but that’s no reason to take it out on me.”

“I don’t really need a lecture right now, okay, Mom?”

The desperation in his voice must have been obvious, because her expression softened. “What do you need from me?” she asked. “I can have Rosa bring dinner over for you and Lucas tonight so you won’t have to worry about cooking. Is there anything else I can do?”

Courfeyrac rubbed a hand over his face and let out a heavy sigh. His instinct was to dismiss her immediately, send her back to the main house where she couldn’t say anything else that might sting, but that was stupid. She was trying to help in her own way. “I need to call some doctors,” he said eventually. “Would you stay with Lucas while I make the calls?”

He didn’t want Lucas to wake up alone.

“Of course,” she said and Courfeyrac excused himself out of the room.

When they’d been back in Rochester, there’d been a team of specialists whom Courfeyrac had come to rely on—people he had called all the times when Lucas stopped responding to medication or when the side-effects were outweighing the benefits. He suspected that a few of those doctors wouldn’t mind him calling now, but there wasn’t much they could do for him over the phone.

Here, he had only one doctor to call—the very same doctor he’d spent the last month trying not think about. Combeferre was just a pediatrician, so Courfeyrac knew there wasn’t a whole lot he could do in this situation even if he did have experience working with patients with epilepsy, but he’d also be able to recommend a pediatric neurologist that he could take Lucas to if that’s what was needed.

Shutting himself in his room so his mother wouldn’t eavesdrop on him, he pulled out his phone and called Combeferre’s office. A woman answered the phone and Courfeyrac quickly explained the situation and what he needed.

“Just a moment,” she said. “Dr. Combeferre just got done with a patient. He’ll be able to speak with you as soon as he finishes some paper work.”

Courfeyrac sat on the edge of his bed and flopped backwards. He was not looking forward to this.

“Dr. Combeferre speaking,” an oh-so-familiar voice said over the phone a moment later. Courfeyrac felt his stomach twist. “Who am I speaking with?”

His mouth was suddenly dry and it took a moment to get his tongue to work. “It’s Courf,” he said. “Uh Courfeyrac. Whatever.”

“Courf, hi.” Combeferre sounded surprised, but otherwise unphased.

“I’m calling about Lucas,” he said quickly.

“Right, of course,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“He had another seizure,” he said. “The first one since he started the newest medication—which was about two months ago now? This is the first medication that he’s had any long term success with and I don’t know if it’s just stopped working or if we need to up his dosage—or if this seizure was unrelated to the medication, just like a breakthrough seizure or something. And I don’t even know if this is something you can help with or if we need to call a specialist—in which, I’m going to need you to recommend someone.”

Combeferre was silent for a long moment. “I’m really sorry about this,” he said.

“What?”

“You just—you sound upset. I’m sorry that you’re upset.” There was a hint of something like vulnerability in his voice. Fuck that. Courfeyrac didn’t need vulnerability right now. Combeferre didn’t get to feel vulnerable right now.

“I don’t need you to be sorry,” he snapped. “I need you to tell me how to help my kid.”

“Right,” Combeferre said, assuming his professional doctor voice again. “You said this is the first seizure he’s had since the new medication? Are you sure he hasn’t been having any in his sleep or anything?”

“I can’t watch him all night, but I do check in quite a bit,” he said. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

“And how frequent were his seizures before the medication?”

Courfeyrac let out a heavy sigh. “Five times a day? Six? Sometimes more.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m inclined to think that this is just a breakthrough seizure—not something we need to be overly concerned with unless it happens again. If it does happen again, we can schedule an EEG at the hospital and try to see what’s going on. We can also try to up his current dosage if he has another seizure because he has been responding well to this one. And, if you’d like, I can give you the number of a pediatric neurologist at the hospital if you’d like a specialist’s opinion.”

“I don’t know,” he said, staring up the ceiling and wondering how on earth he was supposed to know if he needed a specialist’s opinion and how on earth he was supposed to make even more decisions about Lucas’s health. “Do you think I need another opinion? This—this has really just blindsided me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it about Lucas?” Courfeyrac asked. He wasn’t ready to have a conversation with Combeferre if it wasn’t about Lucas.

“Yes.”

“Go for it.”

“It’s just with a lot of epilepsy cases—particularly with children—seizures can be triggered by stress and with the age Lucas is…well…What I’m trying to say is that kids his age are usually really sensitive to the emotions of their parents and I know things probably haven’t been easy for you after…after what happened last month. Between us, I mean.”

“Are you—are you trying to blame this on me?” Courfeyrac said, sitting up abruptly. “Or blame yourself? What the hell?”

“I’m not trying to blame anyone. I’m just looking for an explanation.”

“The explanation is that my kid has epilepsy! You ripping my heart right out of my chest had nothing to do with this!”

“Courf, I—”

“No,” he snapped. “Who the hell do you think you are, asking something like that? Was that some sort of test to see how broken up I am over you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t—”

“Because I’ll have you know, despite the fact that you wouldn’t let me even have dinner with you to talk all this over, so I could have just a little bit of closure about this and wouldn’t feel like I’ve just been abandoned again, I’ve been doing damn fucking well, okay? Yeah, it really sucked having to break up with you, but I’m a competent enough parent not to let that affect my kid!”

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Damn straight you shouldn’t’ve.”

“Please call if Lucas has another seizure—and if it happens after hours or over the weekend, go ahead and take him to the hospital. Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or, if you still have my personal phone number, you’re welcome to call that,” he said. “Just…whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

“Okay, thanks,” Courfeyrac said and he hung up before Combeferre could say anything more.

He took a deep breath before coming out of his room, trying to compose himself so his mom wouldn’t ask any questions.

“What’d the doctor say?” she asked.

“He thinks it’s just a fluke,” Courfeyrac explained, taking a seat on the couch. Even though Lucas was still dozing, he gathered the little boy into his arms and pulled him onto his lap. He needed to be close to him right now. Lucas stirred a little and snuggled closer to Courfeyrac.“We should keep a close eye on Lucas to make sure he’s not having more seizures, but as long as he doesn’t, then this is probably a one time thing.”

“That’s good,” she said. She hesitated, looked around the room, and frowned. Courfeyrac got the sense that she was trying to figure out how to reach out to him but that she was unsure of how to help.

He was used to that hesitation. Even the people who were the most supportive of him and Lucas back in Rochester had hesitated and distanced themselves after awhile. They didn’t know how to help and so they just stopped trying.

“We’ll be okay here,” he said. “You can go back to the house if you want to.”

When she left, he held Lucas tighter and tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt that she seemed so eager to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I know I said I'd have this up by the end of November, but the beginning of December is close enough, right? Apologies for not responding to the comments on the last chapter, but November was a horrendously busy month. Other than that, though, things are going decently well for a change, so I should be able to have the next chapter up by the beginning of January! I hope you all have a lovely holiday season. Feel free to stop by and say hello on [tumblr!](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

Courfeyrac spent the rest of the day cuddled up on the couch with Lucas, who was sleepy and particularly clingy, but Courfeyrac was just glad that he could take off work to spend this time with his son at all. After dinner, Lucas fell asleep on the couch and Courfeyrac carried him to bed and he was lingering in the doorway watching his son sleep when his phone started ringing. He considered ignoring it, but decided a conversation with someone might distract him from the day’s worries.

When he answered the phone, he was surprised to find Lucas’s teacher on the other line.

“I just wanted to follow up with you about Lucas’s seizure today,” she said, her voice kind.

He hadn’t been expecting that. None of Lucas’s preschool teachers or daycare workers had ever called to follow up when Lucas had a seizure under their watch. “Oh,” he said. “Uh…thanks.”

“I took note of how long the seizure was and everything,” she said. “I can email that to you if you need that information for your doctor. I also wanted to check how Lucas was doing. He was rather upset when he came out of it.”

“Yeah, he’s normally kind of upset after a seizure,” he said. “Of course, I can’t blame him for that. I’d be upset too. I think, because this was the first one in so long, it really took him by surprise—made it all a little worse.”

“Is he doing all right now, though?”

“He calmed down once he was home, though he was a little out of of sorts for the rest of the afternoon—which, again, that’s pretty usual for him. Some kids can bounce right back after seizures, but Lucas has never been one of them. He’s in bed now, and hopefully after a good night’s sleep, he’ll be ready for school again in the morning.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. Courfeyrac was touched at how sincere she sounded. Had they been in the same room, Courfeyrac doubted he’d be able to stop himself from hugging her. “His classmates were all very worried about him. It’ll be good for everyone to have him back in class tomorrow. There was another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to do a sort of mini-lesson for the kids about epilepsy and seizures,” she said. “A few of the kids were scared when they saw Lucas drop like that, and I just want to give them a chance to talk about how they felt and explain to them what seizures are, that seizures aren’t contagious, and that Lucas is going to be okay, but I want to do this in such a way that makes both Lucas and you feel comfortable as well. You’ve said before that Lucas was pretty isolated before now, that his friends stopped playing with him when the seizures started, and I just want to get ahead of all this so that doesn’t happen. My question is whether you would want to be involved—I could plan to do this when you have a free period at the high school, for example—so you could be there for Lucas and to help answer questions? And I also wanted your opinion on whether or not Lucas would be comfortable being there for this lesson or do you think it’d make him uncomfortable to have people talking about him like that?”

“I’d have to talk to Lucas about it to see if he’s comfortable or not,” he said. “It could go either way.”

“That’s totally understandable,” she said. “If he’s not comfortable, I can have him go down to the library and look at some books. The librarians are quite taken with him.”

“He’s a charmer, just like his dad,” Courfeyrac said chuckling. “As for me, I’d love to be able to answer the kids’ questions, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to take off work like that. I took the afternoon off today and the end of the quarter is coming up…”

“Say no more,” she said, instantly banishing his paternal insecurities. “I totally understand. One of the students in class—her dad is a nurse. He came into my class when I had her older brother and he did a little presentation about germs and staying healthy. Would you be comfortable if I reached out to him to see if he could answer some questions? He’s not an expert on epilepsy, by any means, but I’d rather a medical professional be around to help answer these questions than just relying on my own limited knowledge and the internet.”

“I appreciate that,” he said. “I really do. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re going above and beyond like this.”

“Lucas is a good kid,” she said. “And I want him to thrive in my class. Making sure that everyone else understands will only help him—and everyone else—in the long run. So let me know what you and Lucas decide to do—I’d rather take care of this lesson sooner rather than later so no one’s imaginations run away with him. And if you and Lucas decide you’d rather not be there, I will definitely keep you posted on what we discuss.”

“Thank you again for doing this. You’re really going above and beyond here.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said.

After he hung up, Courfeyrac slipped his phone back in his pocket and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes as he took deep, steadying breaths. No one had ever reached out to him and Lucas like this before. None of Lucas’s teachers had ever displayed such effortless compassion in the face of Lucas’s seizures. Courfeyrac had accustomed himself to handling this all on his own—just him and Lucas against the world. But to have someone—a complete stranger almost—reach out to him, to suggest ways to support Lucas without being prompted…Courfeyrac couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes.

* * *

 

In the end, both Courfeyrac and Lucas decided not to be present for Cosette’s lesson on seizures and epilepsy. Courfeyrac had talked it over with Lucas, who was adamant about not wanting to listen to people talk about him like that. Courfeyrac got the sense that Lucas was worried that he was going to lose all his friends again like he had last year and that this was his son’s way of trying to protect himself from that future pain.

It killed Courfeyrac to know his son had experience with that sort of pain at all.

Lucas also said that he didn’t mind if Courfeyrac wasn’t there for Cosette’s lesson either. He’d been prepared to shuffle around his schedule and bring extra work home so that he’d be able to go over to the elementary school during one of his prep periods in the next week. If Lucas wanted him there for that lesson, he would have found a way to be there, but when he explained it to Lucas—saying that he could leave work for a little to help Miss Fauchelevent talk to the class about seizures and epilepsy and to answer questions that Lucas’s friends might have, Lucas was just as firm about not wanting Courfeyrac there either. He pushed the issue a little, trying to make sure this was what Lucas really wanted and not that he was acting out of some misplaced desire to protect Courfeyrac, but Lucas didn’t change his mind.

Cosette had been more than understanding when he called her up to explain the decision they’d reached and by the end of the week, Courfeyrac had a thoroughly detailed email from her explaining how the lesson had gone over. The kids who’d had concerns had been comforted and now there was a flock of tiny five- and six-year-olds who all had a general understanding of epilepsy and seizures. The nurse who’d come in explained to everyone how they could help Lucas—or anyone else—if he had another seizure. Cosette said that they also had a nice little talk about how scary it must have been for them to see their friend have a seizure when they didn’t know how to help and how it must have been even scarier for Lucas. She emphasized that being brave and being a good friend meant helping each other and being kind to each other even when it was scary.

Courfeyrac could have nominated her for teacher of the year on the spot.

In the weeks that followed, Courfeyrac watched Lucas carefully, looking for signs of minor seizures that could easily go unnoticed. He always made sure he was in the same room as Lucas while he graded homework assignments and tests and Lucas played quietly by himself. But despite all of Courfeyrac’s worries, Lucas didn’t have another seizure. The one he’d had at school seemed just to be a fluke. A one time thing.

He felt relieved, but he also couldn’t shake a sense of lingering unease—like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. His life had been complicated in the recent years, and he felt like escaping with only one seizure was far too easy. Things didn’t go easily for him. Not anymore, at least. So he doubled down on his work—making sure his lesson plans were taken care of weeks in advance and that he stayed on top of his grading as much as he could, even if it meant bringing extra work home with him every night and working every weekend. He wanted to be prepared for when the other shoe did drop, wanted to have everything in order for substitutes to take his place when he was back to taking Lucas to endless doctor’s appointments and trips to the hospital for EEGs several times a week. He wouldn’t let his work suffer this time around and he wouldn’t lose his job now because Lucas was sick.

When Lucas started having seizures last year, he hadn’t been prepared. His whole world had crumbled around him and in the end, he lost his only means of supporting himself and his son. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

His friends at work seemed to be able to tell that he was deliberately overworking himself, but Courfeyrac brushed off their offers of help. There wasn’t anything they could do, after all. And besides, he’d played this game before. In the beginning, plenty of his co-workers back in Rochester had wanted to help too—but when Lucas didn’t get better after a few weeks, when Courfeyrac fell more and more behind in his work, people stopped offering as much help. He knew rationally that they probably hadn’t known how to help, that they’d been afraid to reach out when they didn’t know what could be done, but the loss of their support had taken its toll on Courfeyrac just as Lucas being abandoned by his friends had taken his toll on him.

It was better to not get used to the support that would eventually fail him anyway. It was better to go at this alone.

Courfeyrac thought he’d been doing a decent job of hiding the worst of his fears and insecurities and that his work with his students hadn’t suffered as he tried to prepare to a seemingly-inevitable future where he’d be pulled back into the hell of watching his little boy be poked and prodded by dozens of doctors and specialists, but he must not have been doing a good enough job because by the end of October, Valjean came to visit him during his prep period.

“You don’t have any meetings with your students this hour, do you?” Valjean asked when he let himself into Courfeyrac’s classroom. “I was hoping I could take up some of your time.”

Courfeyrac had to remind himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that Valjean certainly wasn’t here to fire him. “I was just hoping to get some grading done,” he said, gesturing to the stack of tests on his desk that he needed to get through.

Valjean chuckled. “The never-ending bane of teachers everywhere,” he said. “I don’t miss it. I was hoping we could talk for a bit.”

“Sir?”

Valjean turned one of the student desks around to face Courfeyrac and took a seat. He was such a large man that he looked comical seated at the student desk. “You’re not in any trouble,” he said. “Far from it—your students love you and the rest of the staff says you’re a joy to work with, but it’s my understanding that you’re having a hard time with your son and I just wanted to check in with you and see if there’s anything we can be doing to help you out at all.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said. He hadn’t expected that, not at all. “Uhm, things are okay. I mean, as okay as they ever are right now. There’s not anything anyone can really do to help.”

“Sometimes helping has a lot more to do with listening and a lot less to do with actual doing,” Valjean said, looking into Courfeyrac’s eyes as though he understood perfectly the loneliness of shouldering a burden like this alone. He didn’t say anything more, just waited silently for Courfeyrac to decide if there was anything he wanted to offer up or not.

After a long silence, Courfeyrac spoke. “It’s just hard,” he said. “Lucas had been doing so well on his medication—we didn’t expect him to have a seizure when he did. We thought…I thought it was over, that we finally had it under control. And he hates having seizures at school—I mean, he hates them regardless, but especially at school—but we weren’t prepared for this and his doctor is pretty sure this was just a fluke, just a one-time thing, but I can’t be so certain. I can’t help but waking up two or three times during the night to check on him. People talk about the sleep deprivation of new parents, but they never say that you check on your kids a dozen times during the night even when they get older.”

Valjean gave a sympathetic laugh. “Cosette had been living in a rather…troublesome foster home when I adopted her, and she used to have nightmares about it, but she’d be too scared to cry out for me because she was used to those cries being ignored. I got in the habit of checking in on her, just to make she was sleeping well or to comfort her if she’d woken up and was scared. I don’t think I ever slept through the night until she was a teenager—and then I was staying up till the middle of the night anyway to make sure she came home safely from this party or that school event. Parenting is hard—especially when you’re doing it on your own.”

“I keep thinking all of this would be easier if I had someone to share the burden with,” Courfeyrac admitted. “A partner to help me parent or even just pick up some of the slack when I feel overworked and stretched too thin, but relationships are work in and of themselves. It’d just be another thing to worry about, someone else’s needs and happiness to prioritize. It’s hard doing this alone but I don’t have any more of me to give to someone else right now.”

Which wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t had any trouble caring about Combeferre, worrying about him and making sure that he was happy when they were together. With Combeferre, maybe the burden really would have been halved instead of doubled, but it hurt too much to think about that.

“I remember feeling that way,” Valjean said, “and I never had any of the health worries with Cosette that you do with Lucas. I think it’s important to remember, though, that loneliness is its own sort of burden and even if you don’t feel that you have the time or energy to invest in any sort of romantic relationship, you still have friends here who are willing to step in and help however you need us to. I think you’re the sort of man who makes friends as easily as you breathe and perhaps it’s always been easier for you to offer help instead of accept it, but they say it takes a village to raise a child and your village is right here, ready to step in with whatever assistance you need. If you ever need anything—from a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to lean on to someone to cover a class for you—please don’t hesitate to come talk to me or any of your friends on staff. We’re all here to help.”

Slowly, Courfeyrac nodded. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“Please do,” Valjean said, standing up to leave. “It takes a strong man to offer help to someone else when he’s already stretched thin, but it takes an even stronger man to ask for help in that position. Don’t forget that.”

* * *

 

Courfeyrac drove as quickly as the torrential rain would allow him. Lucas was in the back seat, anxiously whining that they were going to be late and that he was going to miss his class’s part in the fall program at the elementary school. Courfeyrac had given up on trying to soothe Lucas and was just trying to focus on driving safely through the deluge and hoping that Lucas would eventually get sick of his own whining and stop on his own.

And even before this, it hadn’t been an easy day. Something about the weather starting to get colder always made his students act out more than usual and more than once, he’d had to bark at his students to keep quiet. He hated barking at his students. When he and Lucas got home, Lucas was practically bouncing off the walls because he’d had indoor recess today because of the rain. He hadn’t been allowed to run around outside—and for good reason—and playing games inside just wasn’t enough to taper his energy. Knowing that they’d be gone most of the night tonight, Courfeyrac tried a dozen odd times to get Lucas to settle down and work on the reading assignment he’d been sent home with so Courfeyrac could work on grading his latest set of quizzes, but Lucas could only sit quietly for a minute or two before the wiggles got the better of him. When Courfeyrac tried to cook dinner, Lucas decided that the kitchen was his personal track and was running laps around the island in the middle of kitchen—knocking into Courfeyrac no less than five times and nearly getting boiling hot water all over both of them. Lucas’s interference meant dinner wasn’t done on time, so by the time Courfeyrac got Lucas dressed in nice clothes for the fall program and into the car, they were already running late enough to make Lucas anxious.

And then Courfeyrac’s car wouldn’t start, which prompted waterworks from Lucas in the backseat. Figuring it was just the colder weather causing his engine to act up, Courfeyrac tried turning the engine over a few more times before it caught. He’d promised Lucas once they were on the road that he’d get them to the elementary school as fast as he could—which at least got Lucas to stop crying for the time being—but it’d been pouring rain all day and it’d only gotten worse once the sun set. The roads were slick and even with his windshield wipers on the fastest setting, Courfeyrac could barely keep the windshield clear long enough to accurately see what was coming up ahead on the road.

He was just grateful that it wasn’t cold enough for the water on the road to freeze over, because he would have driven them into a tree by now if that was the case.

Lucas could see the clock on the dashboard from his booster seat in the back. “Daddy, we’re laaaaaaaaaate,” he wailed.

Courfeyrac swore under his breath. When had Lucas learned to tell time? “I’m going as fast as I can, buddy,” he said.

“Go faster!”

“It’s not safe to go faster.”

That, of course, did nothing to appease Lucas today and he kept begging Courfeyrac to go faster and Courfeyrac took a short cut onto a lesser-used residential road that would hopefully get them to the elementary school faster since he wouldn’t have to worry about traffic lights.

And when he was still a good fifteen minutes from the school, his engine stalled—and then died.

“Daddy, why did we stop?”

Fuck fuck fuck. “The engine stopped, buddy.”

“Fix it!”

“I’m not sure this is something Daddy knows how to fix.”

“But you know everything! You have to fix it! I can’t miss the program! We’re gonna sing songs and I’ve practiced really haaaaard!”

Courfeyrac rubbed his hand over his face and then grabbed the flashlight out of the glove compartment. He knew next to nothing about cars. He knew how to change his own oil, but that was only because he dated a mechanic once who’d been horrified that he was paying for people to change his oil and insisted on teaching Courfeyrac how. But he knew nothing about engines or car batteries or anything that could cause his car to die on the middle of the road like this.

He swore violently when he slammed the car door shut behind him. He did his best not to swear in front of Lucas, but Lucas couldn’t hear him now. Within seconds, he was soaked, his hair plastered to his head and his shoes completely water laden. He looked under the hood of car and could tell nothing more than that something was smoking and that this was probably going to be way too expensive to fix.

“Shit.”

He was only now getting to the point where he was making a dent in paying off his medical debt for Lucas’s doctor and hospital bills from the last year—and that was only because his parents refused to let him pay any sort of rent or even chip in for utilities.

“Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck shit.”

Courfeyrac pulled out his cell phone and called Grantaire, who had a reputation for being something of a jack of all trades. He had, at the very least, done something to fix Jehan’s car a few weeks ago when the battery kept dying on him even though he’d just replaced it.When Grantaire answered, Courfeyrac explained that he and Lucas were stranded in the middle of the road and his engine was smoking.

“I’m not sure I can fix a smoking engine,” Grantaire said, “but I’ll take a look, and at the very least, I’ll be able to give you a ride home after you call for a tow truck.”

“You’re a life saver,” he said before hanging up. Bracing himself for the temper tantrum he was certain he was about to unleash, Courfeyrac stuck his head back in the car. “Something’s broken in the car that I can’t fix,” he said. “But my friend Grantaire—you remember R, right? From my school?—he’s coming to look at it and take us home.”

“But my program!”

“I’m sorry, buddy, but by the time Grantaire gets here, we’ll have missed it. We’re already late.”

As expected, that prompted another round of waterworks and Courfeyrac just shut the car door instead of subjecting himself to it. He aimed a violent kick at his front tire, just trying to get some of his own anger and frustration out and wishing he was allowed to yell and scream and cry the way Lucas was.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fucking fair. Things were supposed to better this year. Lucas’s seizures were supposed to be under control. He had a job he enjoyed and he actually liked most of his co-workers and the parents he had to deal with weren’t too pushy. He lived with parents, but theoretically that meant they were available to help out when he needed them to.

But it still felt like everything was falling apart around him. He was still terrified that Lucas would have another seizure. He was still over his head in medical debt. He was still alone, without any sort of partner to help him shoulder these burdens.

He aimed several more kicks at his tire, reveling in the pain it caused in his foot.

Might as well break his foot while he was at it! Everything else was crumbling around him! What was a couple thousand more dollars thrown on top of the rest of his debt?

When he saw the headlights of an approaching car, he moved in front of his own so he wouldn’t accidentally get run over. (A broken foot was one thing, but being killed in a car accident was another matter entirely.) The other car slowed down, no doubt to get a good look of the miserable situation Courfeyrac found himself in, but then the car pulled up alongside his and stopped completely. The driver’s side window rolled down and a familiar face looked out.

“Courf? Is that you?”

Courfeyrac’s traitorous heart skipped a few beats at the sound of Combeferre’s voice. “I—I—Dr. Combeferre?”

Combeferre climbed out of his own car. “What happened? Are you okay? Were you in an accident?”

Courfeyrac tugged his hand through his hair. “I’m…fine,” he said. “But my car broke down and Lucas is melting down because he’s got some sort of fall program at school and he’s going to miss it because we’re already late, and today has just really, really sucked.”

Water dripped down Combeferre’s face as he frowned, as though he were debating something. “I can…I can give you a ride,” he said. “Both of you, to the elementary school so Lucas won’t miss his program.”

“I can’t leave,” Courfeyrac said. “I called a friend—he’s on his way to look at the car. I can’t just leave it here.”

“My friend Enjolras is with me,” Combeferre said, still with hesitation in his voice. “He can watch your car, wait for your friend, and I can still give you a ride. Let me give you a ride.”

“Your friend won’t mind?”

“Your need is greater than his,” Combeferre said with a wry smile that made Courfeyrac want to kiss him. “We were just going to go grocery shopping.”

“If…if it’s not too much trouble,” Courfeyrac said, “that’d actually be a big help.”

“Not at all.”

Combeferre went to explain the situation to his friend and Courfeyrac went to wrangle Lucas out of his booster seat.

“Dr. Combeferre—you remember him, right?” he said. When Lucas nodded with a great big sniff, Courfeyrac continued, “He’s gonna give us a ride to your school. We’re still gonna be a bit late, but we’ll get there.”

Combeferre appeared at his side with an umbrella as he helped Lucas out of the car and wrestled the booster seat out of the seat belt so he could move it Combeferre’s car. Combeferre took the seat from him and helped situate Lucas in his own car and Courfeyrac gave Enjolras his phone number in case Grantaire didn’t show. Mostly he was just glad that Enjolras didn’t seem to mind being abandoned with a stranger’s car in the middle of a rainstorm, and then he climbed into Combeferre’s car.

Even though they had dated for several weeks, Courfeyrac had never been inside Combeferre’s car before. It was an older car—a little out of date, but certainly reliable—but it still somehow managed to have that new car smell. Some sort of instrumental music was playing on the radio, and it fit the solemn rainy weather well.

“Sorry I’m getting your car all wet,” Courfeyrac said. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat and he wouldn’t let himself look at Combeferre. Looking at Combeferre would likely end with him wanting to kiss Combeferre, and that was territory better left alone.

“Don’t mention it,” Combeferre said. “I’m just glad we bumped into you.”

Courfeyrac gave him directions to the elementary school but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know what else there was to say and he worried that opening his mouth for any sort of conversation outside of the directions would result in him saying something he’d regret. When Combeferre pulled up to the front of the elementary school, Lucas was already unbuckling himself and Courfeyrac leapt out of the car to help and hurry Lucas inside. He made a vague hand-gesture at Combeferre—one he didn’t entirely understand himself—as he rushed Lucas into the school. He hoped, at the very least, that Combeferre would take it as an invitation to wait for him.

Lucas led him down the hall to the school auditorium, where the fall program was being held. The doors to the auditorium were cracked open, and Courfeyrac spied a class of second or third graders on the stage and he could hear them singing off-key. They were about to slip inside the auditorium to find where Lucas’s class was sitting when Courfeyrac spotted Cosette lining up her students in the hallway alongside the auditorium. Courfeyrac tugged on Lucas’s hand while waving wildly trying to get Cosette’s attention.

She spotted them and waved them closer. Her smile brightened for Lucas, even though he was wet. “We’re so glad you could make it, Lucas!” she said, her voice hushed so they wouldn’t disturb anyone inside the auditorium. “Go ahead and get in line next to Miranda, okay?”

Lucas hurried off to get in line next to a girl with pig-tails, who gave him a big toothy grin and then whispered to him excitedly.

Cosette turned her attention to Courfeyrac. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Car trouble,” he said. “I didn’t think we were even going to make it.”

“Well, you’re both here and and that’s what matters. We’ll be going on just as soon as the second graders finish, so you should go take a seat.”

Instead of trying to find an open seat in the dark while another class was performing, Courfeyrac opted to stand in the back near the door. The auditorium was small enough that he still had a good view of the stage and once the second graders shuffled off stage and Lucas’s class shuffled on, Courfeyrac could see Lucas standing on the risers in the second row. He pulled out his phone to record the event. At least standing in the back meant that no one could get mad at him for having his phone out, and he wanted some record of this night, for all Lucas was sopping wet. The kindergartners performed very enthusiastically—if not on key—and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but smile, some of the stress of the day easing away as Lucas sang “Five Green and Speckled Frogs” and “Five Little Ducks”—songs that Courfeyrac could remember singing when he was that young. He didn’t notice that someone had come to stand next to him until there was a tap on his arm at the end of the performance.

Combeferre, his hair wet and plastered to his head from the rain, stood next to him with Lucas’s booster seat in hand. Courfeyrac felt his face flush immediately.

“I am so sorry,” he hissed, trying not to disturb the other parents in the audience as the next class took the stage. “I completely forgot you were out there!”

“I figured that might be the case,” Combeferre said. Instead of being angry or annoyed, which Courfeyrac thought would be a reasonable reaction, he wore a fond smile. “I can’t blame you though, because those kindergartners are pretty damn cute. Anyway, I didn’t know if you and Lucas would need a ride home after this or if you’d be able to catch a ride with someone else, but I figured you might need this.” He held up Lucas’s booster seat.

Before Courfeyrac could answer, the next class started their song and Courfeyrac gestured toward the door, hoping they could continue their conversation out in the hall. He didn’t want to disturb anyone during the actual performance.

He took the booster seat from Combeferre and wondered if he’d be able to dry it at all with one of the hand dryers in the bathroom because it was a little wet right now. “I’m sure I can get a ride from someone else if you need to get going,” he said. If nothing else, he could call his mother and she’d come and pick them up. “You’ve already done so much for us tonight, I don’t want to keep you any longer.”

“It was no trouble, really. I’m glad I could help.”

Combeferre ran a hand through his hair. Since his hair was still wet, all he accomplished was making it stand up at strange angles which just made Courfeyrac want to run his own hands through it. He clutched the booster seat tighter.

“Let me make it up to you,” he blurted out before he could think better of it.

“What? Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s the least I can do. Lucas was going to meltdown if he missed this concert. I’m sure he wants to make it up to you too.”

Yes. Good. That was a good excuse. Lucas wanted to make this up to Combeferre. Courfeyrac was just the enabler. This had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Courfeyrac still had feelings for the other man.

“You really don’t have to,” Combeferre said, but Courfeyrac could see the slightest reluctance in his expression. He wasn’t as opposed to this as he was saying.

“And you didn’t have to pull over to help me when my car broke down,” he said. “It won’t be anything big, just—just let me make dinner for you or something.”

“That…I’m really not sure dinner is a good idea.”

“It wouldn’t be a date,” Courfeyrac said, hoping that he was accurately guessing the source of Combeferre’s reluctance. “Just a little thank-you dinner at my place—and to be honest, the food might not even be that good because Lucas really loves tinkering in the kitchen with me these days. And Lucas would be there the whole time, so it’s not like anything would happen.”

He refused to break eye contact with Combeferre, hoping to communicate all that he was feeling without having to actually say it. As upset as he was over the way things ended between them, he couldn’t deny that he missed Combeferre and enough time had passed that he thought maybe he could take a stab at friendship if a romantic relationship was still off the table. And if a romantic relationship wasn’t off the table…then what better way to rekindle it with a family-friendly dinner at his place?

“I think I should bring Enjolras along,” Combeferre said. “After all, he’s the one waiting with your car in the rain. You have as much to make up to him as you do to me.”

“Oh, of course,” Courfeyrac said. Whatever would make Combeferre comfortable. And with a bit of luck, Lucas could spend most of the meal distracting Enjolras and give Courfeyrac and Combeferre plenty of time to talk. “Does next week work for you?”

“I’ve got something going on on Wednesday, but I think I’m free every other night.”

“Excellent,” Courfeyrac said, his heart fluttering in his chest and feeling a little more alive than he had in nearly two months. “I’ve still got your number—I’ll text you the details?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up around the beginning-ish of February! Thank you all so much for the support and comments and kudos! Stay tuned to [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for writing updates in the meantime!


	11. Chapter 11

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Enjolras asked Combeferre as they got in the car on Thursday evening to go have dinner with Courfeyrac and Lucas.

“He’s just trying to express his gratitude,” Combeferre said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Except that you used to date this man—and I’m pretty sure you still have feelings for him!”

“Nonsense,” Combeferre said, hoping that the darkness in the car would hide the way his face flush. He always tended to get flush when he lied and Enjolras well knew it. “Breaking up with him was hard—and I probably wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t Lucas’s doctor—but that was nearly two months ago now. We’ve both moved on. I’m seeing Matthew now.”

Enjolras snorted. “You might be going on dates with that man, but you cannot pretend that you have any serious feelings for him.”

“Not all relationships have to be about passion and fireworks,” Combeferre said. “Sometimes you date someone just…just to have company.”

“I just don’t really think you can say you’re seeing someone when you don’t even like them.”

“I like Matthew!”

“If he stopped calling or if he told you tomorrow that he’s getting married to someone else, I don’t think you’d care at all. If anything, I’d think you’d be relieved to not have to deal with him anymore!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“So is your denial,” Enjolras retorted.

“Do you really think I shouldn’t go to this dinner?” he asked with a heavy sigh. “It’s not too late to cancel.”

Although if he canceled now—especially without any good reason—Combeferre knew that Courfeyrac would be well within his rights to never want to talk to or see him ever again, and Combeferre wasn’t willing to risk that. No matter how much he told himself that Matthew was a decent replacement for Courfeyrac, he didn’t actually believe it and his life had felt dull and grey without Courfeyrac in it for the last six and a half weeks.

“I think you need to be prepared,” Enjolras said. “Seeing someone that you had such strong feelings for in such a casual—and kind of intimate setting—is probably going to bring back a lot of feelings, and I think you need to be prepared for that and I think you need to know what you want from Courfeyrac before we set foot in his house.”

“I don’t want anything from him.”

Combeferre didn’t have to look at Enjolras to know that he was rolling his eyes. “If you want a shot at being friends with the man, that’s fine, but you need to realize there’s a big difference between being friends with someone and being in a relationship with them. And if you’ve changed your mind and you do want to pursue a relationship with him—”

“I don’t want that,” Combeferre said, cutting him off. “Dating him would be unethical. It’s why we broke up in the first place and I’m not going to go back on that.”

“Hmph.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras said.

“Out with it. You’ve never had a problem sharing your opinions before now.”

“I’ve already said what I need to on this matter,” Enjolras said. “And you very clearly told me to not bring it up again, so I won’t.”

Combeferre sighed. Enjolras had voiced his opinion on Combeferre breaking up with Courfeyrac and his subsequent relationship with Matthew before. As far as Enjolras was concerned, being ethical was all good and well but he was also concerned about Combeferre’s happiness. I don’t like seeing you this upset, he had said, especially when you were so happy just a few days ago. I know you say it’s unethical to date him, but it’s also unethical to make yourself and someone else so miserable.

It had been a vastly different conversation than the one he’d had with Joly immediately after breaking up with Courfeyrac. Enjolras seemed to think that as long as Courfeyrac wasn’t Combeferre’s patient, than the matter wasn’t as black and white as Combeferre thought it was. And hearing all of the reasons Enjolras thought that it wasn’t unethical to continue dating Courf—well, it wasn’t what Combeferre needed to hear at the time and he told Enjolras to keep his mouth shut about it. In the days after calling things off with Courfeyrac, it’d taken all of Combeferre’s self-discipline not to call him up and apologize and beg to get back together. Enjolras goading him towards that hadn’t helped at all—especially when it was combined with Eponine’s vague comments about how he didn’t “seem as happy” with Matthew as he had with “that one teacher you dated that one time.”

Neither Eponine nor Enjolras were subtle when they thought he was doing something stupid.

And that was all besides the point, because Combeferre had made up his mind and he wasn’t going to back down. As much as he adored Courfeyrac, it simply wasn’t ethical to continue seeing him when his son was one of Combeferre’s patients. Combeferre wasn’t going to back down on that.

But there was nothing unethical about being friends with the man. He had clicked with Courfeyrac in a way he hadn’t clicked with anyone since he met Enjolras in high school. He was old enough to know that people like that didn’t show up every day and that it’d be a shame to let Courfeyrac out of his life just because he wasn’t allowed to kiss the man. And seeing as how Courfeyrac had been the one to extend the invitation for tonight’s dinner, he hoped Courfeyrac felt the same way.

The GPS on his phone led him to Courfeyrac’s home, and Courfeyrac had sent him strict instructions to bypass the main house and follow the driveway all the way back to the pool house. Courfeyrac hadn’t said as much, but Combeferre had the sense that Courfeyrac didn’t want his parents to know anything about this dinner or who was invited to it.

The lights were on at the pool house in the back and if Combeferre wasn’t familiar with the excessive wealth of Enjolras’s family, he’d be stunned by the size of the main house and the yard and the swimming pool and the four car garage and the pool house in the back. His own family had always been well-off, but never to this extent. A tiny bit of him couldn’t help but feel grateful that Courfeyrac’s parents were filthy rich because that was what enabled Courfeyrac to move in with them and Combeferre would never have met Courfeyrac if he hadn’t moved back in with his parents.

He parked his car in the driveway behind Courfeyrac’s battered old Toyota and followed Enjolras to the door.

They stood at the door for a long moment, Combeferre trying to steady himself a little before he knocked on the door. He had no reason to be nervous—he and Enjolras had dinner with their other friends loads of times, and that’s all this was. Just a dinner with a friend. A remarkably good looking friend, who was kind and clever and witty and passionate and who made Combeferre feel alive—but still just a friend. Definitely not someone he wanted to kiss.

When Enjolras sighed impatiently next to him, he finally reached out to knock on the door. He heard Lucas shout, “I’ll get it!” and the sound of tiny feet running towards the door. A moment later, the door was flung open and Lucas beamed up at him and Enjolras. He looked like a mini-Courfeyrac, with the same dark, curly hair and the same dimples that framed his smile. Combeferre smiled down at him. “Hi, Lucas. Is your dad around?”

“His dad is right here,” Courfeyrac said, coming to the door while wiping his hands on a checkered apron. He was wearing dark jeans and a button up that fit across his shoulders in just the right way. His hair had been styled a little—his curls tamed instead of running wild like Lucas’s—but something about the way his hair was done made Combeferre want to run his hands through Courfeyrac’s it. He gaped at Courfeyrac open-mouthed, and thankfully Courfeyrac was too distracted with his son to notice Combeferre’s flabbergasted expression. “Lucas,” he said, giving his son a stern-but-not-angry look, “what have I told you about answering the door when I’m not with you?”

Lucas puffed out his cheeks and then huffed. “Not to do it,” he said.

“Exactly,” Courfeyrac said. “So should you have answered the door without waiting for me?”

“No,” Lucas said, “but it was just Dr. Ferre!”

“Well, we didn’t know that it was just Dr. Ferre, so next time, wait for me, okay?” When Lucas nodded, Courfeyrac finally looked up at Combeferre and Enjolras and he smiled. His smile was always blinding. Now was no exception and it left Combeferre a little breathless. Considering that the last two times he’d seen Courfeyrac, the man had either been choking back tears as Combeferre unceremoniously broke up with him or sopping wet and cursing the heavens next to his broken down car, seeing Courfeyrac’s smile again was a little overwhelming. “Come in, come in,” Courfeyrac said, waving them both inside. “Thank you both for coming tonight!”

When Combeferre didn’t move, Enjolras prodded him forward. Combeferre moved mechanically into the house, still a little dazzled by Courfeyrac. How had he ever managed to break up with this perfect man?

Seemingly understanding that words were a bit beyond Combeferre’s grasp right now, Enjolras took the reins. “I’m Enjolras,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met properly.”

Courfeyrac shook his outstretched hand. “I feel like I know from the way Ad—Combeferre used to talk about you.”

“We brought sparkling cider,” Enjolras said, holding out the bottle he’d brought along. “We thought it’d be inappropriate to bring wine since your son would be eating with us.”

“Sparkling cider is great,” Courfeyrac said, taking the bottle. “This’ll go perfectly with dinner. Speaking of which, I need to go finish that up. Lucas, do you want to show our guests where they can put their coats?”

Lucas led Combeferre and Enjolras into the living room and showed them the coat rack in the corner where they could hang up their coats. (Lucas was sure to point out his new Spider-Man coat, which he was very proud of.) Lucas then proceeded to pull his favorite books off the bookshelf to show off how well he could read. Combeferre wasn’t sure how much Lucas was actually reading and how much was just memorization, but it was pretty damn adorable either way. He wondered if the entire Courfeyrac family was this charming or if it was a trait that Courf shared just with his son.

Lucas was in the middle of a rather dramatic recitation of Go, Dog, Go when Courfeyrac came to usher them all to dinner. The table had been set for four, with Enjolras and Combeferre sitting on one side and Courfeyrac and his son sitting on the other. Whether by accident or design, Combeferre ended up sitting directing across from Courfeyrac.

It was going to take a lot of effort to not stare at him the whole meal.

No. It would not take a lot of effort. Courfeyrac was an attractive man, but Combeferre wasn’t some uncontrollable beast. He could keep his attraction in check and just enjoy the other man’s company for an evening. They were friends. That was it. Combeferre was friends with plenty of attractive men—Enjolras probably chief among them—but he never had a problem not staring at them.

The problem, he realized as he caught himself watching the flex of Courfeyrac’s forearms as he served the pork chops and pan-seared asparagus, wasn’t just that Courfeyrac was attractive. It was that Combeferre was attracted to him—and that made this a different situation entirely.

When everyone had been served, there was the slightest of awkward pauses, as though none of them were quite certain who should start the conversation, but before the pause could grow too tense and awkward, Courfeyrac dove right in. “So, Enjolras,” he said, “Combeferre told me you work as a civil rights lawyer?”

“That’s right,” Enjolras said.

“My parents had hoped that I’d go into law,” Courfeyrac said with a self-deprecating grimace, “but I’m afraid that I fell in love with teaching instead. How do you like it? Are you working on anything interesting now? Well, anything interesting that you can talk about, at least? I’m not trying to get you to break your attorney-client privilege at all.”

And with that, any sense of the earlier lingering tension was gone. Enjolras launched into a discussion about an unlawful termination case he’d just settled—a young Muslim woman who had, for all intents and purposes, been fired for wearing a hijab to work, which according to her employers was a violation of their workplace uniform. Courfeyrac clearly had a mind for law, because he was quick with questions that were both thoughtful and relevant.

Of course, that could have also just been a result of Courfeyrac’s natural charm. Combeferre remembered how easily Courfeyrac managed to carry conversations and how he managed to make himself sound interested in whatever the topic was. (Combeferre still had doubts that Courfeyrac was as interested in moths as he claimed to be the very first time they’d had coffee together.) Courfeyrac had an easy way with people, and he seamlessly juggled his conversation with Enjolras while also responding patiently to Lucas’s attempts at joining the grown up conversation. And despite the fact that Combeferre didn’t have much to add to the conversation—he had listened to Enjolras talk about this case almost non-stop for weeks and had nothing left to contribute—Courfeyrac had a way of making him feel like he wasn’t being left out of the conversation.

Courfeyrac just had a way of making the people around him feel like they were the center of the universe, and Combeferre had a hard time remembering why he’d ever let Courfeyrac go in the first place.

“You know,” Enjolras said half-way through the meal when the conversation had turned from the unlawful termination lawsuit to other current civil rights issues, “if you’re interested in these sorts of things, you really should come to one of our Les Amis meetings.”

“What’s a Les Amis meeting?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Ferre didn’t tell you?” Enjolras said. The look he gave Combeferre was almost accusatory.

“It never came up,” Combeferre said. Which was mostly true. But he didn’t want to admit that part of him had wanted to keep Courfeyrac to himself back when they’d started dating. Courfeyrac was the sort of person who attracted friends and admirers wherever he went and Combeferre hadn’t been willing to share him before they’d broken up.

“It’s a sort of community activist and outreach group that we run,” Enjolras explained. “Ferre and I started it back in college together, and we’re still going strong a decade later. We could really use someone like you in our ranks.”

“Is it really necessary to recruit for Les Amis over dinner?” Combeferre muttered under his breath to Enjolras who didn’t seem to notice.

“We already have a couple teachers in the group,” Enjolras said. “Even some from the school you teach at—Feuilly, who we’ve known for ages, and a fellow named Jehan started coming a couple weeks ago.”

Courfeyrac choked a little on his sparkling cider. “Jehan Prouvaire?”

Enjolras nodded. “That sounds right. Do you know him?”

“Jehan and I go way back,” Courfeyrac said. “We went to school together as kids.”

“Ferre, weren’t you the one who told him about us?” Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre, his expression tense. “Is that so?”

There was an air of false levity in his voice.

“I may have mentioned it to him,” Combeferre said. “I really don’t remember.”

“Huh,” Courfeyrac said, his voice still sounding just a little off. “He never mentioned that he was going to these meetings.”

The tense expression on Courfeyrac’s face and the odd tone of his voice suddenly made sense to Combeferre. Jehan, one of Courfeyrac’s oldest friends, had been seeing Combeferre socially after Combeferre had broken Courfeyrac’s heart. If the situations were reversed and Enjolras had been hanging out with Courfeyrac without Combeferre’s knowledge, he’d be irritated too. Thankfully, it looked like the bulk of Courfeyrac’s frustration lay with Jehan and not Combeferre.

“I like Jehan,” Lucas said suddenly, seemingly pleased that the adults were finally talking about someone he knew so he could properly join the conversation. “He watches me sometimes when Daddy goes out, and he tells good stories and he draws good, but not as good as R.”

With that, Courfeyrac’s frustration seemed to dissipate and Lucas, encouraged by his father’s smile, continued to treat Combeferre and Lucas to a who’s-who of people that he knew.

When the meal was over, Lucas commandeered Enjolras, demanding that he have an audience to finish Go, Dog, Go to. Enjolras wasn’t the best with children, but he seemed just as charmed by Lucas as Combeferre was, and he allowed Lucas to escort him back to the living room.

And with Lucas “reading” to Enjolras in the other room, Combeferre found himself alone with Courfeyrac for the first time the entire night. They sat across from each other in silence for a moment, and then Courfeyrac started gathering plates together.

“Might as well get started on the dishes,” he said, “or I’ll be up all night doing them.”

“Let me help clean up,” Combeferre said. “It’s the least I can do.”

But Courfeyrac shook his head and relieved Combeferre of the plates he’d started to gather. “No, no,” he said. “You see, this entire dinner was my attempt to repay you for helping me out last week, so if you help me out now, that just sets us back to the beginning! I’d just have to make you another dinner.”

“What if I want that?” Combeferre said without thinking. “What if I want to have dinner with you again?”

Courfeyrac hesitated, staring hard at Combeferre for a long moment. Then he set to gathering up more dishes and refusing to look Combeferre in the eye any longer. Without saying another word, he took the dishes into the kitchen, leaving Combeferre behind.

But Combeferre wasn’t going to stand for that. He gathered up a few dishes himself and followed Courfeyrac. “Sorry,” he said, putting the dishes down by the sink where Courfeyrac stood. “I know…I’m the one who called things off. As much as I might still want to go out with you, I shouldn’t burden you with that. That’s my own issue to work through.”

“Do you, though?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you still want to go out with me?” Courfeyrac kept his eyes on the dishes he was washing.

“I tried to tell myself I didn’t,” Combeferre said. “But I’m not that great of a liar—even if it’s just to myself.”

“Because you know…my feelings haven’t changed in that regard either,” Courfeyrac said. He handed a clean but wet plate to Combeferre and gestured to a dish towel that sat on the counter next to a drying rack. Combeferre dried off the dish then set it gently on the counter.“I mean, part of me is still a little pissed about what happened. I just—I don’t handle rejection all that well, not when it’s sudden like that. It just…it brings up a lot of old shit. But that doesn’t change the fact that I still…have feelings for you. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“And see, that’s the thing,” Courfeyrac said. “As far as I can tell, we’re both kind of miserable without each other. It…it just seems stupid to just perpetuate our misery like this when we can change it.”

Combeferre felt his stomach churn. There was very little he wouldn’t give to have Courfeyrac back, and he was absolutely determined not to hurt Courfeyrac again the way he had back in September—but circumstances were what they were. “It’s a bad idea,” Combeferre said. “I’m still Lucas’s doctor.”

“But you wouldn’t be dating Lucas, you’d be dating me. I can see how the situation would be a little…sticky, I guess, but I can’t believe there’s any hard and fast rule about this. You’re attachment is to me, not to Lucas—and Lucas is doing so much better these days, it’s like he’s a healthy kid. You’ll only see him once or twice a year.”

“I’d only see him as a patient once or twice a year,” Combeferre said. “But do you really think I could date you and not develop some sort of attachment to your son? That I would never see him outside of my work? I don’t think that’s what either of us really want.”

“I’d do it if it meant we could still be together,” he said. “Yes, I absolutely want someone in my life who I can share all of my life with—who knows and loves Lucas as much as he loves me—but if I can’t have all of that, why should I give up the chance to have even just a little bit of you? I would keep my home life and my romantic life separate if I it meant I could still have you, even just a little bit.”

“Courf, I’m sure we would both start with the best intentions, that we would try our best to keep my work separate from our relationship, but even if I never saw Lucas outside of work, I still don’t think I’d be able to treat him like just another patient. I’d be too close to you, too involved, and as his doctor, you need to be able to trust me that I’m doing what’s best for Lucas, even when it’s painful or frightening, and I just don’t that I could be as impartial as I need to be if I let things continue between us.”

“Listen, I’ve been left behind before, abandoned before. Believe it or not, Lucas’s mother wasn’t the first one to leave me like that and she wasn’t the last and I just—I can’t deal with that again, okay? And I’m not trying to manipulate you or anything, I’m just trying to be honest, because I’ve spent the last six weeks trying to hold myself together, but I haven’t felt this alone in life since I woke up five years ago to discover that I was a suddenly a single parent. And just seeing you the other day—all that loneliness, all that pain of abandonment, it just…it disappeared for a little bit. So if there’s anyway that I can keep you around, even just a little bit, then I’m going to go for it.”

They were standing close. Too close. And Courfeyrac was looking up at him, mere inches away, his expression slightly heartbroken and seeking comfort. Combeferre had to fight the urge to kiss him. “It’s a bad idea,” he said again. “It’s a very bad idea, but…but I don’t see why we can’t be friends.”

“Friends,” Courfeyrac repeated. His voice sounded hollow.

“We could have friendly dinners,” he said. “You could start coming to our Les Amis meetings—I know you’re interested in those. We could still see each other, still be in each others’ lives. Just as friends.”

“Friends who want to kiss each other all the time?”

“Don’t sound so skeptical,” Combeferre said. “We both miss each other and neither of us wants to lose the other one. My life is better with you around. I won’t lie about that. But I’m still Lucas’s doctor and you’re still his dad and I just wouldn’t feel right being romantically involved with you, but if I can keep you as a friend, then I will—if you want to, that is.”

“This is going to be hard,” Courfeyrac said. “Maybe even impossible. I don’t know if I can just be friends with you.”

“I don’t think that means we shouldn’t try.”

Courfeyrac sighed, then quirked his lips into a half-smile. Again, Combeferre had to choke back the desire to kiss him. “I did say I’d keep you around even just a little bit if I could.”

“You did,” Combeferre said. “Does that mean you’ll give this a try? You’ll give our friendship a shot?”

“How could I possibly resist?”

* * *

 

The next morning when Courfeyrac went into work, he dropped off his coat and his bag in his classroom and went in search of Jehan. He found Jehan sitting at his desk in his own classroom, looking over a stack of what appeared to be rough drafts of papers. Jehan looked up at him and smiled.

“Morning, Courf.”

Courfeyrac didn’t say anything, just walked straight over to his oldest friend and aimed a swift kick at his ankle. He smirked with satisfaction when Jehan yelped.

“What was that for?”

“When were you going to tell me that you’ve been hanging out with my ex-boyfriend every week?” he demanded.

Jehan flushed a little and he had the good sense to look sheepish. “So you finally found about that, huh?”

“What the hell, Prouvaire?”

“Combeferre told me about the Les Amis when you brought him along to that football game. He said they were getting started on an adult literacy initiative—and you know how I feel about adult literacy!”

“And you didn’t think to mention to me that you were seeing him?”

“I wasn’t seeing him seeing him,” Jehan said. “It was just at those meetings, and to be honest, he and I haven’t had a single personal conversation this whole time. It’s not like I was meeting him for coffee once a week so we could gossip about you. Besides, I was rather under the impression that you didn’t want to talk about what happened between you and Combeferre.”

“That’s because I didn’t—I don’t,” he corrected himself quickly when he recognized a certain glint in Jehan’s eyes. “I just think it’s really shitty of you to be meeting up with him at all when he broke my heart!”

“But you wouldn’t tell me that he broke your heart,” Jehan said. “All you ever said was that you two called things off and you wouldn’t let me ask you any follow up questions! And why are you so mad at me about this? I’m just trying to help out the community and I’m not the only one of our friends who goes to those meetings.”

That took Courfeyrac by surprise. “Wait, what?”

“Feuilly has been going for years,” Jehan said. “Don’t you remember? He and Combeferre knew each other already when you introduced him to all of us at that football game. And he drags Bahorel along every so often—he’s been coming more though now that I’m going. I’ve even invited Grantaire along a time or two—not that he’s ever accepted the invitation.”

“So you’re all just hanging out with the man who broke my heart like nothing happened?”

“Again, it’s not like these were social visits,” Jehan said. “And besides, we’re not high school students. We shouldn’t have to pick sides when our friends have a bad break-up. If I’d ever gotten the sense that he’d deliberately or maliciously hurt you, then yes, I would have stayed away—but as far as I can tell, that’s not what happened between the two of you. And how did you find out about this anyway? You haven’t—you haven’t gotten back in touch with Combeferre, have you?”

“It’s not like that,” Courfeyrac said, certain Jehan was already concocting an elaborate reconciliation story in his head.

“Then what is it like?”

“When my car broke down last week, he happened to see me and Lucas stranded on the side of the road and he gave us a ride…and then I had him over for dinner last night to express my appreciation.”

Jehan’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Are you serious? You had dinner with him last night?”

“With him, his roommate, and my son,” Courfeyrac said dryly. “It wasn’t like the night was full of romantic confessions.”

“But you wanted it to be full of romantic confessions,” Jehan said.

“It’s complicated,” he said. He heaved a sigh and figured he might as well fill Jehan in on all the messy details. “It turns out that Combeferre is the pediatrician my doctor back in Rochester recommended I take Lucas to when we moved back here. He’s got experience with difficult to treat epilepsy cases, so it’s not like I can just take Lucas to another doctor. But since he is Lucas’s doctor, he decided…well, it’s best for him not to be involved with his patient’s parents.”

Jehan winced. “So you both still have feelings for each other, but you can’t see each other because of that? That’s awful, Courf.”

“Tell me about it.” He tugged his hand through his hair. “We decided last night, though, that we’re going to try to be friends. I’ve missed him.”

“Courf, I hate to break it to you, I’m pretty sure the entire school knew that you missed him. It’s not like it’s been this great secret.”

Courfeyrac aimed another kick at Jehan’s ankle, which he dodged. He didn’t need to be reminded of what a mess he’d been for the last six weeks.

“Are you going to come to the Les Amis meetings then?” Jehan asked.

“That’s the plan. My mom has already agreed to watch Lucas. I just…I wanted to be sure that you were coming this week because I didn’t want to be there by myself if all of this goes to hell in a hand basket.”

“If you’re going, of course I’ll be there,” Jehan said with a smile. “I’ve got your back if all of this goes pear-shaped. You know that. But I really don’t think you need to worry about that.”

Despite Jehan’s confidence, Courfeyrac wasn’t so certain. Things between him and Combeferre had crumbled once before—he wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t going to happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, one and all, for your continued support here and on tumblr! Every kudos and comment always brightens my day :D The next chapter should be up by the beginning of March, and until then you can stay tuned to [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for writing updates!


	12. Chapter 12

On Wednesday, Combeferre and Enjolras drove over to the Musain in the evening, just as they always did. The _Les Amis d’ABC_ had been Enjolras’s brainchild back when they were in college together—back when they were young and both filled with righteous anger and passion and determined that they could fix the whole world if someone would just give them a chance. Back then, there’d been no limit to the sort of efforts Enjolras insisted that they—and their fellow friends and students—tackled. Raising money for refugees of war-torn countries. Protesting against restrictive and backwards legislative practices. Campaigning for politicians who were determined to make change.

As college students, the whole world was available to them, and Enjolras had been determined to save everyone—and he’d gotten frustrated when his efforts failed and his frustrations pushed him to be more and more radical. It was only when his arrest record became a liability to his ability to get into law school that Combeferre stepped in and learned how to focus and channel Enjolras’s passions to a more manageable level. They couldn’t fix congress and political problems on a national scale, but they could influence local elections, which would in turn directly affect the community they lived in. They couldn’t feed every hungry child on the planet, but there were poverty-stricken families right down the street from their college that they could help out.

At first, Enjolras had chafed under the limits Combeferre set for them—he was prone to thinking they weren’t doing enough—but after a few years, he became rather passionate about his community involvement—and being able to see the fruits of his labor had done wonders for his temper.

Now that they were both in their thirties and managing professional aspirations, they still took time to better the community they lived in. Les Amis was now a community outreach program—they helped raise funds and resources for local homeless shelters, helped pair up volunteers with the organizations that needed them most, ran tutoring programs for at-risk children and teens, and they were in the middle of starting up their adult literacy program through the county library. They met weekly—most of the time, sometimes with large crowds, other times with smaller groups of “regulars” who Combeferre had now known for years and considered his friends.

When they arrived at the cafe, the staff smiled and waved them to the back room where they always held their meetings. Combeferre and Enjolras always made sure that they bought drinks and baked goods on the way out to compensate for the use of space and they always encouraged everyone else to do the same. Combeferre was the pediatrician for the owner’s two daughters, which bought them a lot of lee-way, but Combeferre thought it was important to support the cafe financially in any way they could as well.

As Enjolras set up for the meeting, Combeferre greeted their friends as they showed up and tried to not check his phone every twenty seconds. Courfeyrac was supposed to come tonight. They had talked about it. Courfeyrac had confirmed with him the day before and Combeferre’s heart fluttered a little every time the door to the back room opened—and then his heart sank every time it _wasn’t_ Courfeyrac.

By the time their regular crowd had shuffled in and settled down and Enjolras was ready to start, Courfeyrac still wasn’t there and there was no message on Combeferre’s phone explaining the absence.

He sank back in his chair and tried not to take it personally, but his chest still ached uncomfortably. He had no idea how he and Courfeyrac were supposed to work anything out between themselves, but he wanted Courfeyrac back in his life—and he wanted back him in his life now. He thought Courfeyrac felt the same. Of course, there were any number of reasons why Courfeyrac wasn’t here. Something could have come up with work or with his family. Lucas could be sick. Lucas could have had another seizure, though Combeferre hoped that Courfeyrac would at least call him if that were case. But it could be something benign. His babysitter could have fallen through or he was having car trouble again. Courfeyrac didn’t seem like the sort to stand someone up—even if they were just friends. Undoubtedly when Courfeyrac had some time to spare, he’d text Combeferre and explain what happened.

He just had to be patient.

He used to not have any trouble being patient.

When Enjolras looked at him, eyebrows raised in a silent question of whether or not he wanted to start talking about his pet project to promote education about public health issues, Combeferre shook his head. Enjolras rolled his eyes a little, but he knew as much about this project as Combeferre did and he launched into speech about how they needed to find local community centers that would be willing to host them for an afternoon to talk about public health.

It was in the middle of this spiel that the door to the back room opened again. Combeferre sat up straighter, trying not to look too eager—and then too disappointed—as Jehan walked in. But just behind him was Courfeyrac.

Courf’s face was flushed from the cold air outside, and since Enjolras was in the middle of his speil, he just offered Combeferre a shy wave and took a seat next to Jehan in the back of the room.

As hard as it’d been to focus before Courfeyrac showed up, it was even harder to focus now that he was here. For his part, Courfeyrac seemed to be very interested in the discussion at hand and he only occasionally glanced at Combeferre. (Combeferre quickly looked away every time this happened, determined not to look like a complete creep who couldn’t stop staring at Courfeyrac, even if that’s how he felt.) After a while, Courfeyrac even offered some suggestions to the discussion and the people around him looked impressed at Courfeyrac’s insight and amused by his self-effacing humor.

But of course everyone else in the meeting would like Courfeyrac. Combeferre had always known they would, which was part of of the reason he hadn’t invited Courfeyrac to one of these meetings when they had been dating. He was selfish sometimes. He had wanted to keep Courfeyrac to himself.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel pleased that Courfeyrac fit in with this crowd. Couldn’t help but imagining Courfeyrac as a regular fixture at these meetings—as a regular fixture in his life. Courfeyrac could use the friendship this group would offer him and maybe once some of the pressure was off Courfeyrac, when he had a healthy support network, then things could…progress. Maybe then they could start seeing each other again. Maybe—

No. He couldn’t let himself think like this. He was still Lucas’s doctor. That still had to mean something.

He spent the rest of the meeting reminding himself that he was, first and foremost, Lucas’s doctor and that his relationship—no, friendship. His friendship with Courfeyrac had to accommodate the fact that he was Lucas’s doctor and not the other way around.

At the end of the meeting, Combeferre caught up with Courfeyrac before anyone else could steal him away for a bit of conversation. Jehan, who’d been sitting at his side the whole time, glanced between the two of them before loudly excusing himself to go get some pastries from the cafe, taking along a few people who looked like perhaps they wanted to talk to Courfeyrac as well.

Combeferre would have to thank Jehan for that later.

“I’m glad you came,” Combeferre said, taking the seat Jehan just vacated. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Punctuality isn’t really a thing when you’ve got a five year old to wrangle.”

“Where is Lucas, anyway?”

“My mom’s watching him,” he said. “You know, for a while, she was complaining that I was having her babysit too much, but she seems to have changed her tune in the last six weeks. Turns out, when your social life suddenly dies and you start overworking yourself, mothers tend to get very concerned that you’re not taking any time for yourself.”

Combeferre winced a little, not wanting to think too much about the picture Courfeyrac just painted of his life since they broke up, but Courfeyrac nudged him with his elbow.

“Don’t look like that,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m fine and if I can’t tease you a little, this ‘friends’ thing is never going to work out.”

He felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “You say friends as though it’s some sort of absurd concept.”

“Friendship in itself isn’t absurd,” Courfeyrac said. “But in this particular case…well, I would love to have you as a friend, but I can think of quite of a few other relationship categories I’d prefer to have you in.”

Courfeyrac gave him a rogueish sort of smile that made Combeferre feel weak in the knees. What was he thinking? He’d never be able to be just friends with this man. Courfeyrac’s hold on him was too powerful.

“Now what’s that look about?” Courfeyrac asked, cocking his head to the side a little.

It was too much. With only a cursory glance to make sure the back room had cleared out, Combeferre put his hands on either side of Courfeyrac’s face, tugged him forward a little, and pressed their lips together in what was probably the worst kiss he’d ever initiated. Courfeyrac, however, didn’t seem to mind. He shifted his body closer to Combeferre’s, his hands fisting in Combeferre’s shirt, tugging the fabric as though he never wanted to let go. When Courfeyrac’s mouth opened in an eager invitation, Combeferre didn’t hesitate to get a taste of the other man. It’d been so long, too long, since he’d had Courfeyrac in his arms like this.

He was never going to let him go. Why did he ever let him go in the first place?

Reality flooded back to Combeferre and he jerked away, his eyes locked on Courfeyrac’s perfect face. His wide brown eyes framed by dark lashes. His mouth slightly parted as he struggled to catch his breath.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Combeferre said. “I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Courfeyrac said.

“We’ve talked this over,” Combeferre said. “It’s a bad idea. A very bad idea.”

“But it’s a very _good_ bad idea.”

“Isn’t it though?”

Courfeyrac laughed, his smile lighting up his face. Combeferre felt his pulse start to race.

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe one more kiss will make me come to my senses.”

“That also sounds like a very good idea,” Courfeyrac said, leaning in for another kiss.

Combeferre didn’t hesitate. Their lips met again and where the first kiss had been fumbling passion, this one was sweeter, softer—though it held some of the same desperation. Courfeyrac moaned against Combeferre’s mouth and Combeferre smiled at the sound, though he didn’t let that break the kiss. He didn’t want anything to break this kiss. He tugged at Courfeyrac, encouraging him to come closer.

By the time they pulled apart, Courfeyrac was sitting in his lap.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Combeferre said.

“But we are,” Courfeyrac said. “Why are we fighting this when there’s love to be had? We’re just making ourselves miserable!”

“Your son—”

“We’ll find Lucas another doctor,” Courfeyrac said. “You can tap your network, try and find someone you know and trust that I can take him to. I can drive back to Rochester every time Lucas needs a check up. I don’t care. This is a stupid reason for us to be apart!”

His eyes were bright and filled with hope and longing.

Combeferre went in for another kiss. Courfeyrac melted against him, the space between their bodies becoming completely negligible. He tried to lose himself in the sensation of Courfeyrac’s mouth against his, his body against his, but he couldn’t completely silence the voice in the back of his head that kept telling him that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this, that he knew better than to get involved with a patient’s parent.

And when that voice became too loud, he pulled away.

“This doesn’t make you a bad person,” Courfeyrac said, as though he could guess the at the source of lingering turmoil and hesitation. “And it doesn’t make you unethical. Together we can make this work. We can fix the problems that stand between us.”

“Okay,” Combeferre said. It was easy to shove aside his conflicting feelings when Courfeyrac beamed up at him.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think we need to go slow, but let’s give us a shot.”

* * *

 

“So you mean to tell me,” Eponine said, leaning back in her chair, “that after all that drama about ethics and after breaking that poor man’s heart, you two are back together again?”

Combeferre crossed his arms defensively. “He’s not the only one who was heartbroken about this.”

It was a Saturday afternoon and they were sequestered in his office where he’d been told, in no uncertain terms, to explain exactly what happened between him and his “cute teacher friend” because she’s heard through some grapevine of acquaintances that they were back together.

“It doesn’t count if you broke your own heart,” she said.

“I don’t get why _you’re_ upset about this in the first place,” he said. Because she was upset. He’d known her long enough to read the signs of her flaring temper—the way her eyes squinted just-so and the way her nostrils flared and the tense set of her mouth. She wasn’t loud in her anger the way Enjolras was, but she was just as formidable.

“I’m upset because I had to listen to you bemoan your broken heart for nearly two months when you were just going to get back together with the man in the end. And, not to mention, Matthew is upset that you’ve called things off and I was counting on him to do some pro-bono work for one of the women at the shelter, but right now he’s too distraught to answer my phone calls!”

“Wait, Matthew is upset?” He hadn’t given Matthew that much thought beyond the phone conversation he’d had with the other man, canceling their next date and explaining that he’d gotten back together with his ex. It was weird to think of Courfeyrac as his ex. His ex-ex. “I didn’t think he was all that involved in the relationship—not that it was a relationship. We were never exclusive.”

“You’re kind of a catch,” Eponine said, her tone still unforgiving. “Matthew thought you were the last decent gay man in the area.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry that he’s upset. If he won’t do that pro-bono work, let me know and I’ll make Enjolras do it.”

“Can anyone make Enjolras do anything?” Eponine said, but she didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she kicked her feet up on his desk, ignoring the way he scowled at her. “So now that you and the Cute Teacher are back together, do I at least get to know his name now?”

“Why do you need to know his name?”

“So I can google him,” she said.

“Why do you need to google him?” He wasn’t surprised that Eponine wanted to google him, of course. He’d complained to her often enough about this whole mess that she was undoubtedly curious. But truth be told, he didn’t want the word getting out about him and Courfeyrac, at least not yet. Not when Lucas was still his patient. He was annoyed enough that Eponine had somehow found out they were back together already—he didn’t need her knowing his name.

Because despite all the kisses and resassurances he had lavished upon Courfeyrac, he still felt…off about this relationship. Not that it was inherently wrong. This was definitely a grey area, but he didn’t feel right about it—and he doubted he would feel right about it until Lucas was safely someone else’s patient. He took his job seriously.

“I need to make sure he’s good enough for you,” Eponine said. “And you know if you don’t tell me what his name is, I have ways of finding out on my own. This secret won’t be yours for much longer.”

“Fine,” Combeferre said. “His name is Courfeyrac. Happy?”

The grin Eponine gave him was devilish. “Oh, he is cute. You certainly know how to pick them.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“He’s Gav’s history teacher,” she explained. “His grades are always borderline, so I make sure to go to all the parent-teacher conferences so I can harass him about what he needs to be doing to keep his grades up and put in a good word for him with his teachers. Mr. Courfeyrac is the one teacher he legitimately likes this year—and even more impressive, he actually seemed to like Gavroche as well. At the very least, he didn’t think that Gav was a pain in the ass who’s too clever for his own good, which is what all the other teachers seem to think about him.” She paused for a moment. “To be fair, though, they’re not entirely wrong about Gavroche.”

“You can’t mention this to anyone,” Combeferre said. “Especially not to Gavroche.”

He knew that Eponine’s younger brother lived with her. He had been since Eponine landed a full-time job and could afford to support him since her parents, to Combeferre’s understanding, weren’t doing that great of a job looking after him. And while Combeferre hadn’t met the teenager yet, he’d been led to understand that he didn’t have much of a filter and the last thing he needed was for Gavroche to start spreading word of this relationship around school.

Eponine gave him a shrewd look. “And why should I not mention this to anyone?” she asked. “Your business is your business, but it doesn’t seem fair to Courfeyrac if you’re trying to keep this relationship all under wraps.”

“I’m not trying to keep anything under wraps,” he said. “But I’m still his son’s doctor and I’d rather not stir up a scandal I could avoid. So just keep quiet about this until we find another doctor for his son.”

“And does Courfeyrac know you feel this way?”

“We’ve talked about my…reservations,” he said. “And I’m working on finding someone else who can be Lucas’s doctor, but until then, I would just rather my relationship with Courfeyrac stays between me and Courfeyrac.”

“All right,” Eponine said. She held up her hands in a sort of surrendering gesture and she swung her feet off his desk. “Just be sure he knows this is why you’re keeping things all hush-hush or he’s going to end up thinking you’re ashamed of this relationship. Mark my words.”

“Consider them marked,” he said.

* * *

 

At Combeferre’s request, they were taking things slow—which Courfeyrac agreed was a good idea. Looking back at their whirlwind of a romance in the beginning of the school year, Courfeyrac could see that he’d let his heart get away from him. Part of the reason he’d been so upset was because he’d let himself feel too much, too strongly, too quickly. They both needed time to get to know each other a little again.

So instead of going out frequently, the way they had back in September, they would text in the evening or talk to each other on the phone. Courfeyrac suggested that Combeferre come with him when he took Lucas trick-or-treating on Halloween and he tried not to let Combeferre’s reluctant refusal to get to him. They were taking things slow, after all. Slow enough that apparently they weren’t to be seen in public together.

But Combeferre did invite him over to his place the following night for dinner—with or without Lucas, depending on whether or not Courfeyrac could find a babysitter for Lucas on such short notice. When his mother found out he was going on a date—of sorts—she was all to happy to agree to watch Lucas for the evening and while Courfeyrac drove over to Combeferre’s place, he tried to come up with ways to keep his mother from asking invasive questions about his romantic life when he got home.

Combeferre lived in a town house near on the other side of town, which he shared with his friend Enjolras. It was a small place, but plenty big enough for just two adults and it had the feel of a place well-lived in. It reminded Courfeyrac a little of his apartment back in Rochester. He’d moved in just after graduation and it was the first place that he and Lucas had really called home together. It didn’t matter if it was never spotlessly clean or that it was old and cramped and that sometimes their pipes were leaky, it was still home. Combeferre’s place had the same sort of home-y quality. The kitchen was tidy, but not spotlessly clean. The coffee table in the living room was buried under paperwork that Enjolras had brought home and there was a stack of old sci-fi and fantasy novels beside a battered old armchair. Courfeyrac knew instinctively that those were Combeferre’s books and it made him smile.

The dinner itself was uneventful. Enjolras wasn’t there—Combeferre said he was busy with a case for work—and so it was just the two of them and they fell into easy conversation. Combeferre talked about work and his volunteer work. Courfeyrac swapped stories from school and bragged about how adorable Lucas had looked dressed up for Halloween. Conversation with Combeferre had always been effortless and now that they were alone—one-on-one for the first real time since they broke up—they were able to pick up the threads of their old relationship without problem.

After the meal was over and after Combeferre refused his offer to help with the dishes for the fifth time— “I’m trying to do something nice for you, Courf, so let me.”—Courfeyrac settled at the kitchen table with his laptop and a stack of tests and papers that he needed to add to his online gradebook.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought some work along,” he said. “It’s just data entry, so I won’t be too focused, but it seemed like a silly waste of time.”

“By all means,” Combeferre said. “We’re used to multi-tasking around here.”

“Oh really?” Courfeyrac asked with a teasing smile. “I couldn’t tell by the fact that the living room is practically wallpapered with legal documents.”

“That’s all Enjolras,” Combeferre said. “I try not to do paperwork at home.”

“Separating business and pleasure,” Courfeyrac said. “A smart man.”

After getting the wifi password from Combeferre, he logged on to the online gradebook to update grades. After getting through two of his classes, he took a break and checked his email. He scanned a couple of work emails, reminding him of staff meetings and solicitations to chaperone various after-school activities. He answered a quick email from a student about an upcoming assignment and emailed the school librarian to see if he could schedule some time after the holidays for his classes to come in for a research project. He was about to close out of his email, when he noticed an older email about the school’s fall play that opened next weekend.

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said, looking up from the email. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—the fall play is going on next weekend at the school and some of my students are in it. They’re doing _Our Town_ this year and they’re really excited about it. I’ve already told them I’d go. Would you want to come with me? Lucas is a bit young to appreciate live theater at this point—or at least young to appreciate live theater that isn’t specifically catered to children.”

There was a flicker of concern that crossed Combeferre’s face—gone almost as soon as it appeared. “When is it?” he asked.

“It opens next weekend,” he said. “They’ve got shows on Thursday, Friday, and two on Saturday.”

Combeferre turned back to the dishes he was doing. His back looked stiff. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“So you’re busy next weekend?” Courfeyrac asked. He drummed his fingers on his keyboard.

“I’ve got some stuff with the women’s shelter next weekend,” he said, still not looking at Courfeyrac. “And then I’m doing some online courses to keep up my certification—you know how it is. I’m really sorry.” This time he did look over his shoulder at Courfeyrac. “It’s just really lousy timing.”

“It’s fine,” Courfeyrac said. “Jehan was planning on going, so I’ll just tag along with him when he goes.”

Despite his reassurances to Combeferre though, it was hard not to let this latest rejection sting. Combeferre liked him. He knew that much. Their physical chemistry was undeniable and he couldn’t ignore the way Combeferre had a way of looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. But this was the second time in a matter of days where Combeferre had turned down a date that Courfeyrac proposed.

Did…did Combeferre just not want to be seen with him?

He pushed the thought aside. He had abandonment issues, he knew that. He was prone to looking for flaws in relationships where there were none and the stronger his feelings were, the more he second-guessed himself about the strength of his relationship. But that was all in his head. He knew it was all in his head. Combeferre wouldn’t have agreed to give this a second try if he hadn’t wanted to. If nothing else, Courfeyrac knew that Combeferre was a man of strong convictions. It’s what had gotten them into this whole mess to begin with. But it meant that Courfeyrac could take Combeferre at his word, could trust him when he said he wanted to give their relationship a second chance. And besides, Combeferre had made it abundantly clear that his feelings hadn’t changed. Even aside from his kisses the other night at the Musain and the way he’d been incredibly tactile over dinner, Combeferre had invited Courfeyrac over to his home. That wasn’t something people like Combeferre did unless they were serious about a relationship.

But part of him still wondered…

Was he just Combeferre’s dirty little secret?

Combeferre sat down next to him and bumped his knee against Courfeyrac’s. “You okay? You look a little lost.”

“What? Sorry. I was debating whether to schedule the next test before or after Thanksgiving break.”

“Ah, the busy life of a teacher,” Combeferre said. He held his hand out to Courfeyrac. “If you can afford to take a break, you haven’t seen the rest of the house yet. I would love to give you the grand tour.”

“Would this tour happen to end in your bedroom?”

“Would you complain if it did?” Combeferre asked, eyebrows raised. “I seem to recall that you rather enjoy the way I kiss you…and Enjolras won’t be home for hours yet.”

Courfeyrac shoved aside the last of his worries. This wasn’t the time or place to be needy and clingy and it was impossible to ignore the way his blood seemed to heat when Combeferre looked at him like this. It was better not to worry about the details of their relationship just now. He put his hand in Combeferre’s and said, “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Ides of March, my friends. If any of you happen to be dictators, please watch your backs. I'd be so disappointed to hear one of my lovely readers had been brutally stabbed :D
> 
> Just an update on the general state of things, I've got some Real Life Stuff that should be happening sometime around the beginning of April, but I've been working hard to try to finish drafts of the remaining chapters of this fic this month so that once the Real Life Stuff happens, I'll be able to keep to my posting schedule because I'll only have to do edits on chapters instead of writing them completely. By the looks of it, there are four more chapters of this fic and then an epilogue, and I have drafts finished for two and a half of those chapters, so I'm on schedule! (It feels so good to be on schedule. You have no idea.)
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned to my [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for more writing updates and I should be back in early April with the next chapter!
> 
> (Also, I just realized that I was remiss in responding to comments last month and I am sooooo sorry folks. I love hearing from you and I appreciate all the kudos and comments you send my way! I'll try to be better about responding this month!)


	13. Chapter 13

Over the weekend, Courfeyrac went along with Jehan to the school play. They both had students on the cast and in the crew and it was always a treat to see his students show off talents that he normally didn’t get to see in the classroom. And high school theater always made him nostalgic. He’d done a lot of theater when he was in high school—usually dragging Jehan with him to auditions, even though Jehan had been frightfully shy back then. Due to the low numbers of boys who auditioned, Courfeyrac always got a decent part (even though his acting skills were limited at best) and Jehan was inevitably cast as some secondary male character (for which he never properly forgave Courfeyrac). Some of his best memories from high school were from play rehearsals or performances—and, of course, the cast parties after the performances.

It was fun to relive some of those memories as he watched his students on stage.

When the play was over, it was apparently tradition for the cast to do a meet-and-greet in the front lobby in costume. He and Jehan lingered off to the side of the crowd, allowing their students to come to them instead of barging in on time with their friends and family. He made note of which of his students didn’t come talk to him so he could be sure to congratulate them on a job well done the following Monday. When the crowd thinned, he and Jehan headed out to the car. Jehan had very graciously offered to give him a ride since Courfeyrac’s car was still feeling temperamental as the weather cooled off. Whatever was wrong with the engine, he hoped he could get it properly fixed before winter set in with a vengeance.

“Thanks for letting me come with you,” Courfeyrac said as they got in Jehan’s car. He wasn’t opposed to the idea of going to see plays or movies by himself—sometimes it was a nice escape to sit alone in the dark for a few hours with a good show to distract him—but he always preferred to have company when it was an option.

“Don’t mention it,” Jehan said. “Theater is always best when you’ve got someone to see it with. I was surprised that you didn’t ask Combeferre though.”

Courfeyrac sighed. “I did ask. He said no.”

“Just no?” Jehan said. “There wasn’t a scheduling conflict or anything?”

“He had his excuses,” Courfeyrac said. “But I just can’t shake the feeling that those excuses were rather hollow.”

“What do you mean?”

“We got back together two weeks ago, right?” Courfeyrac said. “Since then, we haven’t gone on a single date—not a proper one, at least. One outside of his house. He just…I don’t know. I’m sure this is all in my head, but I just…it feels like he doesn’t want to be seen with me. We talk on the phone almost every night and he invites me over to his place plenty, but whenever I suggest that we go out somewhere for dinner or even just coffee, he always has a reason why he can’t go. And some of it makes sense—he didn’t want to take Lucas trick-or-treating with me because we’re still trying to keep some professional distance between him and Lucas until we can find a new doctor, but when I asked him to come the play the other night, he said that he was working on some certification for something. I don’t even know what—he wouldn’t say. What am I supposed to make of that?”

“I’d say it’s just poor timing, but it sounds like his behavior has been pretty consistent,” Jehan said, frowning. “He could have his reasons for wanting to keep things just between the two of you for now.”

From the tone of his voice, he didn’t sound terribly convinced himself.

“I know he could have his reasons,” Courfeyrac said. “And he said he wanted to take things slow, but…well, it feels like the only thing that’s slow about this is the fact that he doesn’t want to be seen in public with me.”

“He wouldn’t have agreed to giving this another shot if he didn’t like you,” Jehan said.

“I know that. Trust me, I don’t doubt that he’s attracted to me. That’s not the issue here. But it feels like what I want out of this relationship isn’t something that he can give me right now.”

“Have you talked to him about?”

“And come across all needy and clingy? I don’t think so.”

“Courf, wanting to go out on dates with your significant other is hardly being needy and clingy.”

“But the reason I’m all worked up about this is because I’m needy and clingy,” he said. “I have relationships issues. I’m self-aware enough to know that about myself and this wouldn’t be the first time I’d be over-thinking things—and people tend to get annoyed with you when you’re constantly over-thinking things. It was hard enough to get Combeferre to agree to this. I don’t want to scare him off.”

“I saw you two kissing at the Musain,” Jehan said. “I don’t think you’re going to scare him off.”

“Yeah, well it’s really hard to convince my brain of that.”

“You’ve got abandonment issues, Courf.”

“Funny, I knew that already.”

“What I’m saying is that those issues—which are completely valid because the last person you were in a serious relationship with, that I know of at least, walked out on you in the middle of the night and left you with a newborn to take care of—but those issues are clouding your judgment. I doubt that you’re as needy and clingy as you think you are, but considering how she left you and Lucas, you are well within your rights to be kind of irrationally needy and clingy at times—and a good partner is going to recognize that and give you the reassurance you need instead of brushing you off. Everyone has baggage and right now your baggage is making it hard for you to see this situation clearly.”

“I think it’s perfectly clear,” Courfeyrac said. “Literally every single time I suggest we go out together, he responds with some sort of excuse! I hardly think I’m reading into things that aren’t there.”

 Jehan sighed. “You should at least try to talk to him,” he said. “Next time he turns down one of your date ideas, just tell him how that makes you feel and talk about it like you’re adults. This is how relationships are supposed to work, Courf.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jehan said, pulling into the driveway of Courfeyrac’s place.

“Just that if talking were as cracked up as you’re making it sound, you’d be doing a lot more than making eyes at Bahorel every time you two are in the same room together.”

“That is—Bahorel and I—I do more than make eyes at him.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Here’s the deal, then,” he said. “I will talk to Combeferre next time he gets all touchy about going out, but _you_ have to talk about Bahorel about whatever the hell is going on between the two of you. Otherwise, you are a hypocrite and I have full permission to ignore all of your relationships advice.”

“I am not a hypocrite.”

“Then talk to Bahorel,” Courfeyrac said.

“Fine,” Jehan said. “It’s a deal—but if you don’t talk to Combeferre about this, I’m going to talk to him for you.”

“Same goes with me talking to Bahorel if you don’t talk to him.” Courfeyrac clambered out of the car and then stuck his head back in. “And Jehan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for listening.”

Jehan smiled at him. “Don’t mention it. I’ll see you on Monday.”

As Jehan pulled out of the driveway, Courfeyrac let himself into his home and called out, “Hello?”

His mother had agreed to watch Lucas tonight and all the lights were left on—making Courfeyrac grateful that his parents were covering his electric bill, but leaving him no indication of where his mom might actually be.

“In the kitchen,” she answered.

He hung up his coat and went to the kitchen, where his mother was taking cookies out of the oven. There were already stacks of cookies on the cooling rack on the island, some of which had the lumpy and uneven look of having been baked by a five year old.

He snatched a cookie from the cooling rack before his mother could tell him not to and popped it in his mouth. Despite it’s lumpy appearance, it still tasted damn good, which made him suspect that Lucas had only been involved in the last stages of cookie preparation and not involved with anything that involved measuring out ingredients.

“These are good,” he said. “Is Lucas in bed already?”

It was past his bedtime, though Courfeyrac had learned that his mother was much more lenient about bedtime than he was. He was too worried about triggering seizures if Lucas was overtired, but his mother didn’t seem to have the same concern—despite how many times Courfeyrac reminded her that sleep deprivation could lead to seizures.

“Put him to bed at eight,” she said. “Just like you wanted.”

“And everything was okay?”

She nodded, giving him a slightly condescending look. “I do know how to take care of children, Hugo. I raised three of them myself, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I know,” he said. “Forgive me for being a concerned parent.” He took another cookie, despite her disapproving look. When he was growing up, she’d had rules about snacking this late at night and he was in clear violation of them. “So what are the cookies for?”

Bribing him with sweets had always been her way of broaching difficult conversations or asking for favors.

“Who said the cookies have to be _for_ anything?” she asked. “Lucas thought it’d be fun to bake something together. He likes spending time in the kitchen.”

“I know he likes spending time in the kitchen,” he said. “And I also know that he likes _cooking_ more than he likes _baking._ He’d be more likely to ask to cook dinner together instead of baking together.”

“Am I not allowed just to bake cookies for my favorite son?”

“I thought David was the favorite son,” Courfeyrac said with a wry smile.

“I love you and David equally,” she said. “David is my favorite son who lives in the city. You’re my favorite son who lives here in New Castle. You can both be my favorite.”

“And you’re my favorite mother who likes to bake cookies whenever she needs an excuse to talk to her favorite son who lives in New Castle,” he said.

“Is it so wrong that I’ve been meaning to talk you? You’ve been so busy lately.”

“Is this going to turn into a lecture about how I’m relying on you too much to watch Lucas? Because I can find another babysitter. I’d rather skip the lecture if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’m not here to lecture,” she said. “I just…I want to talk. Are you…are you seeing that doctor again?”

“How did you know I stopped seeing him?”

“Your sister told me,” she said. “I was worried about you and you weren’t telling me anything, so I asked her and she told me that you and that doctor you were seeing broke up. Are you seeing him again? Or is there…is there someone else?”

“No,” he said, making a mental note to tell his sister to keep his business to herself. Josie never did learn to keep her mouth shut. “The doctor and I are seeing each other again. His name is Adrien.”

He decided not to mention last names in case she recognized him as Lucas’s doctor. That was a discussion he’d rather not have with his mother.

“How are things between you two?” she asked. “Are you two serious?”

“Mom, we only got back together like two weeks ago. It’s a bit early to say whether or not things are serious.”

“I’m only asking because we’re making plans for a caterer for Thanksgiving and I wanted to know if we should plan on you bringing a guest.”

“You’re getting a caterer for Thanksgiving? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”

“Isn’t Thanksgiving about giving into excess for a day?”

“I thought it was more about being grateful for what you have. And, you know, the whole pilgrims and American Indians thing.”

“That’s besides the point.”

He rolled his eyes and she slapped at his hand when he reached for another cookie.

“I don’t know what Adrien’s plans are for the holidays,” Courfeyrac said. “He might be expected to go visit his family.”

“And would you and Lucas be likely to go with him if he did?”

He remembered what Combeferre had said about his parents never asking about his romantic life. “Doubtful,” he said. “But even if Adrien’s not going home for Thanksgiving, Dad’s not going to want me to bring another man as my date to dinner.”

“Let me worry about him,” she said. “I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior. Should I count on you bringing a date, then?”

“I dunno. I guess? I should talk it over with him, at the very least.”

“Of course, of course,” she said. She reached across the kitchen island and put her hand on top of his. “Hugo, for what it’s worth, I’m really happy that you’ve found someone who makes you happy. As long as this man treats you and Lucas right, that’s all I want for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

* * *

It was another week before Courfeyrac found a good time to bring up the possibility of having Thanksgiving dinner with his family. They were at Combeferre’s place again, which Courfeyrac was beginning to think was Combeferre’s favorite place in the world for all the times they got together there. He understood that they were both adults who had to balance their personal lives with their work life, that Combeferre regularly had paper work to take care of and was actively involved with a dozen-odd other things that demanded his time an attention, but Courfeyrac was beginning to resent the fact that this was the only place where he ever got to  _see_ Combeferre.

It’d be nice to be able to take him out on occasion, but still every time Courfeyrac brought it up, Combeferre had an excuse for why that wouldn’t work.

He tried to take the advice that Jehan had given him and remember that these sorts of thoughts and insecurities were likely the result of years of struggling with abandonment issues and not an accurate reflection of how things stood between him and Combeferre.

Irrational as the thoughts might be, they still clung to Courfeyrac every time he saw Combeferre.

Luckily, Combeferre was _very_ good at distracting Courfeyrac from these less than pleasant thoughts. His lips could make Courfeyrac moan and his hands always knew the right spots to caress to get a reaction. On Combeferre’s bed, with both of them in various states of undress and skin touching skin, Courfeyrac didn’t have much room in his brain other than the mantra of _more more more_ that seemed to be caught on repeat. But after they had finished and cleaned each other off, Courfeyrac flopped back on Combeferre’s bed and his doubts and insecurities came crawling back.

Combeferre snuggled close to him, propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at him with such sweet affection that Courfeyrac couldn’t hold back his words any longer.

“So, I’ve got something to ask you,” Courfeyrac said, bracing himself internally a little. “You’re probably going to think it’s stupid.”

Combeferre brushed aside some of Courfeyrac’s hair and kissed his forehead. “Nothing you say is stupid.”

“Well, you haven’t heard this yet,” he said. “My mom is trying to make plans for the holidays and I know Thanksgiving is still weeks away, but do you have any plans for it yet? Because I think my mom wants nothing more than for me to bring you along.”

“You want me to do Thanksgiving with your family?”

There it was. That little crease right between Combeferre’s eyes that showed up whenever Courfeyrac brought up the idea of going out together instead of just staying in.

“I would love to have you over,” he said. “But this is all my mother’s idea, so I won’t be bothered in the least if you already have other plans with your family. And if you have already got plans, then I’ll just tell her you can’t make it. It’ll be fine.”

“I have a standing invitation to do dinner with my parents every year,” Combeferre said, shrugging a little. “Lately, I’ve always opted out and done Thanksgiving with Enjolras or some of our other friends.”

“So does that mean you have plans or not?”

“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t talked it over with Enjolras.”

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said. “Okay.”

“What? What is it?”

Courfeyrac looked at Combeferre for a long moment, trying to decide if he wanted to open this can of worms or not. Jehan had been bugging him about communicating honestly and back in the beginning, back when he and Combeferre were still getting to know each other, Combeferre said that he didn’t do well at reading between the lines, that he was prone to taking things at surface value, so if Courfeyrac was going to sort this all out, he was going to have to initiate the difficult conversations—which really wasn’t a burden he wanted to have right now.

It’d be a nice if someone else—anyone else, really—would handle the hard parts of life for a change.

He let out a slow breath. “I guess I don’t understand why you’d be willing to shrug off doing Thanksgiving with my family if all you ever do is an informal thing with your friends—not that I don’t understand that friendships like that are important, because they are, but…” He shrugged one shoulder, unsure of how to continue. “It just feels like maybe you don’t want to spend that time with me.”

“What? No,” Combeferre said. “Of course I want to spend time with you. You’re welcome to join Enjolras and I and our friends for Thanksgiving—you and Lucas both.”

“Are you even considering the idea of having Thanksgiving with my family or have you already made up your mind?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Courf, it’s just this is kind of our tradition now and—”

“And part of being in a relationship is letting traditions bend and change to accommodate everyone who is _in_ that relationship.”

“I just said you were welcome to join us, and you said if I already have plans than you wouldn’t mind if I didn’t come. I don’t understand why you seem so upset about this.”

“You _don_ _’t_ have other plans,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “You already said you and Enjolras haven’t talked over plans for this year, so it just seems like you’re dismissing the entire idea of doing Thanksgiving with my family without really considering it.”

“What is there to consider?”

Courfeyrac sat upright, feeling antsy and wanting to move around. “Well, for one, you could consider whether or not it’d mean something to me to be able to introduce you to my family.”

“I didn’t think you were on that great of terms with your family.”

“I’m on good enough terms that spending the holiday with them isn’t any sort of burden,” he said.

“Are you upset that my family doesn’t know we’re together? That I haven’t invited you to dinner with them or something?”

“No, that’s not—that’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“Because I told you from the beginning, my parents never really came to terms with the fact that I’m gay and it’s not something we talk about. They don’t want to know about my romantic life, and frankly that’s not a conversation I want to have with them.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with your family, okay?”

“Then what are you getting at?” Combeferre asked. He looked uncomfortable, like this entire conversation was out of his depth. “Because you’re obviously upset and I’m obviously missing something here!”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that  sometimes I feel like you’d rather keep me hidden away like some guilty secret instead of letting us be a couple who do things that couples do—like having Thanksgiving dinner with my family!”

“What do you mean I’m keeping you hidden away?”

“Shit, Combeferre, do you not even see it?” Courfeyrac snapped. “In all the time we’ve been back together, we haven’t been on a single proper date!”

“You come over here all the time—and besides, we’ve only been back together for a few weeks!”

“We’ve been seeing each other just as long now as we did at the beginning of the school year,” Courfeyrac said. “And back then, we went out to eat or went out for desserts and a movie and you came to school events with me. Now, the only time I get to see you is when we’re in your house and you don’t have to risk being seen with me!”

“I thought we were taking things slow!”

Courfeyrac gaped at him. “Combeferre, we are both half-naked and sitting together on your _bed_. What about this is taking things slow? As far as I can tell, you’re perfectly happy to keep me around as some sort of bedroom playmate, but I’m not good enough to be seen with in public. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m not—you’re not—this isn’t—”

“This isn’t what?” Courfeyrac said. “I’m just trying to be honest here, okay? I’m just telling you how I feel and how all of this looks to me, all right? And from where I stand, it looks like you’re ashamed to be seen with me. That you’re fine if I’m just some secret you keep tucked away in your house but that you don’t actually want people to know we’re together.”

“That’s not it at all!” Combeferre said.

“Then explain it to me!”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I’ve got time.”

“It’s just—I’m not ashamed of you. Of course I’m not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but—I just—and…this isn’t what you think it is. I swear. But with…with everything—I’m just not—it’s not comfortable—”

Courfeyrac sighed and heaved himself off the bed. “You know what?” he said, cutting Combeferre’s awkward and fumbling explanation off. He grabbed his jeans and his shirt off the floor. “Let’s not do this right now. I should get back home. We both have work in the morning and I promised Lucas I’d be back early enough to read him a story before bed.”

“Courf, wait,” Combeferre said, catching him by the wrist and keeping him from leaving the room.

He turned to look at Combeferre, hoping to get some sort of explanation or at least some passionate plea to stay so they could work this all out.

But instead, Combeferre just opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking utterly at a loss for what to say. Courfeyrac pulled his wrist out of Combeferre’s grip.

“Courf, I care about you,” Combeferre finally said. “You have to know that.”

“I know you care,” he said. “But sometimes caring isn’t enough.”

He slipped out of Combeferre’s room and out of the house, his heart torn between wanting Combeferre to call him back before he left and wanting to shake the other man until he came to his senses. He believed that Combeferre had reasons for his behavior, that he wasn’t intentionally trying to make Courfeyrac feel insecure, but he was also starting to believe that Combeferre had absolutely no idea how to articulate the rationale behind his actions and Courfeyrac didn’t think he could let things continue the way they were until Combeferre found the words to explain what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, lovely folks, for reading. I hope you enjoyed your stay! Apologies if this chapter seems short--it used to be quite a bit longer (too much longer), so I lopped off the end and stuck it at the beginning of the next chapter, which I think does wonders for the pacing of the story overall, but it did leave this chapter a little shorter than I wanted it to be.
> 
> In the way of general updates, I've got some Real Life Stuff that's approaching and my apartment is turning into a hotel for the rest of the month for various relatives who are coming out for various things and things are going to be hectic for me for a while. I have a somewhat decent rough draft for the rest of this fic and editing is easier for me to stay on top of than writing, so I should be able to keep on top of my once-a-month posting schedule. That said, May's chapter might get posted in the middle or end of May rather than the beginning, depending on how much Real Life Stuff gets in my way. (I plead for your patience, because I realize I've left these two knuckle heads in a rather precarious situation haha.)
> 
> As always, I love hearing from all of you, so feel free to leave comments or kudos and to check out my [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for writing updates and general tom-foolery!


	14. Chapter 14

Combeferre didn’t sleep that night. He paced his room, cursing himself in every language he knew about how stupid he’d been. Eponine had warned him about this, had warned him about accidentally making Courfeyrac feel like he was some sort of guilty pleasure boyfriend. And it was the last thing Combeferre had wanted—and the last thing he’d thought was possible because he thought he and Courfeyrac were on the same page about their relationship. He thought that Courfeyrac understood the need to keep things just between them for the moment. He thought that’s what they both meant by taking things slow—since obviously they weren’t taking the physical aspects of their relationship slow.

But no. Apparently they weren’t on the same page and he only had himself to blame. He’d been expecting Courfeyrac to read his mind, to just…magically understand his intentions without ever putting them into words. Courfeyrac was usually so much better at reading between the lines than Combeferre was. It didn’t occur to him that Courfeyrac was misunderstanding everything.

And if Courfeyrac hadn’t been brave enough to speak up about how he was feeling, Combeferre would have just kept on making Courfeyrac miserable without even knowing.

The thought made him feel sick.

He always did this. He always screwed up his own relationships because he didn’t know how to talk about things.

And usually, when he messed up this badly, he let the relationship go. He figured if a relationship was truly meant to be, then things would have a way of just working themselves out. Of course, that never happened. Relationships didn’t just fix themselves like that. He was a grown man in his thirties. He knew that.

Just like he knew that if he had any hope of salvaging his relationship with Courfeyrac, he needed to swallow his pride, apologize profusely, and somehow find the words to explain why he acted the way he did.

It wasn’t going to be pretty, but he was prepared to do what he needed to do.

* * *

 

After spending a sleepless night trying to come up with a plan to make this right, Combeferre checked himself in at the front office at Courfeyrac’s school, knowing enough about public schools to know that he wouldn’t be allowed to just roam the halls without some sort of visitor’s pass. He tried not to blush when he explained to the secretary that he was there to see Courfeyrac. The bouquet of flowers he had with him made his intentions blatantly obvious and he considered himself lucky that none of his other friends who worked at this school saw him checking in. He didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise.

This was a time that called for big, romantic gestures—even though he felt completely uncomfortable making one. Gestures like this weren’t his style. This wasn’t the sort of thing that came naturally to him. But he had decided in the middle of the night that just relying on what came naturally to him wasn’t going to get him very far with Courfeyrac right now. Not talking about things was what was natural to him and it’s what got him in this miserable mess to begin with.

The secretary gave him Courfeyrac’s classroom number and brief directions on how to get to his room. He’d gotten the school schedule from Jehan (who thankfully hadn’t asked questions), and he must have shown up too near the beginning of the class period because there were a handful of students still lingering in the hall and he didn’t miss the way they stared at him and giggled. As a student, he’d gone out of his way to avoid attracting attention to himself—which was difficult to do when Enjolras was your best friend—and it felt uncomfortable now to have so many eyes on him. When he reached Courfeyrac’s door, he took a deep breath to compose himself and then rapped his knuckles on the door.

“It’s open!”

He let himself into the classroom, but he found he wasn’t alone with Courfeyrac. A couple of students were in the room and Courfeyrac appeared to be helping them with some sort of project. One of the girls giggled when she spotted the flowers in Combeferre’s hand. He blushed.

Courfeyrac looked up to see who had come in and surprise flickered across his face, quickly passing into confusion. “Combeferre,” he said. “What are you…?”

“Jehan told me this was your free period,” he said. “I didn’t realize you’d be busy with students. I can come back lat—”

“No!” Courfeyrac practically shouted the word. His face flushed and he coughed once to clear his throat. He looked at his students. “Would you all mind waiting out in the hall for a couple of minutes?”

The girl who had giggled took each of her classmates by the arm and hauled them out of the room. Combeferre didn’t look to check, but he was fairly certain if he turned around, she’d have her face pressed to the small window in the door. No doubt the entire school would know that Mr. Courfeyrac had a…a gentleman caller by the end of the hour.

“I…I didn’t expect to see you today,” Courfeyrac said. He rubbed his hands on his slacks, like he was worried his hands were clammy.

“I couldn’t stand to let things go unresolved after last night,” Combeferre said, hoping his words didn’t sound to rehearsed. “I care too much about you. I needed to come and apologize.”

“Apologize,” Courfeyrac said slowly.

He nodded. “I’ve been—well, I’ve been a complete ass,” he admitted. “You kept bringing up things you wanted to do together and I kept turning you down because I was worried about us being seen together. You were right about that, but it wasn’t ever because I was ashamed to be seen with you. It’s just since I’m still Lucas’s doctor—I just wanted to get that whole thing taken care of before someone saw us and caused this big problem about it, but I realize now how that must have seemed to you because I was stupid and never actually explained any of that to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to make you think that I was ashamed of you or anything like that. And obviously, what I _intended_ doesn’t really make up for that fact that I hurt you and that I gave you reason to doubt me and my feelings for you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He held out the flowers to Courfeyrac. “I, uh, brought these as a peace offering. I just hope that I haven’t screwed up so badly that you won’t accept my apology.”

It was then that Courfeyrac began to laugh, which was not the reaction Combeferre expected to get.

Combeferre’s confusion must have show on his face, because almost immediately, Courfeyrac reached out as though to reassure him with a gentle touch.

“I’m not—I’m not laughing at you,” he said once he managed to compose himself, though he didn’t stop smiling. “I just—did you really think one fight would be the end of us? After all the work I did to get us back together?”

“All the work _you_ did?”

His smile turned devious. “Why else did you think I invited you over to dinner after you saved me and Lucas from being stranded in the middle of that rainstorm?”

“So things are okay between us?”

“As long as you promise that things will change now that you’ve realized what’s been happening,” Courfeyrac said.

“Absolutely.”

“Good, because the whole school is going to know that an attractive man brought me flowers by the end of the period. This isn’t something we can really keep quiet about anymore.”

“I just wanted to get things with Lucas squared away before we…went public, as it were.”

“Which is a very noble thought,” Courfeyrac said. “But just not particularly practical. Has there been any luck on that front?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he said. He wanted to make sure he was leaving Lucas in the best possible hands and all the colleagues that Combeferre knew who’d be equipped to take Lucas on as a patient either weren’t accepting new patients at the time or they lived too far away to be practical. “I’m working on it still.”

“I’ll call up our old doctor back in Rochester,” Courfeyrac said. “She was the one who recommended you to me in the first place. I’ll see if she has another recommendation. We’ll figure this out, I promise. I just wish you would have told me this was bothering you so much from the beginning.”

“Ah, well, talking about how I feel has never been my strong suit,” he said. “I told you that.”

“I guess I didn’t realize that when you said you were bad at this that you meant _really_ bad,” Courfeyrac said, laughing a little.

His laughter surprised Combeferre. When Courfeyrac left last night, he’d been certain that things between them were almost irreparably damaged. But Courfeyrac was acting like this wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Are you…are you sure everything is all right between the two of us?” Combeferre asked, wanting to be absolutely certain that neither of them were misunderstanding the other. “You just left so suddenly last night and I’m really not any good at things like this. You’d tell me if something else were wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Courfeyrac took his hand. “We’re fine,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, this matter is resolved.”

“It’s just that last night you seemed really upset…”

“Last night…I was hurt last night,” Courfeyrac said. “I won’t lie about that. I’ve got a bucket load of abandonment issues and who knows what else, and your reluctance to be seen with me was stirring up old memories—and that’s all on me, by the way. You couldn’t have known that since I didn’t tell you. I should have been more honest with you earlier about how I felt but I didn’t want to come across as some clingy boyfriend. And last night, we were both tired—or at least I was tired and I get emotional when I’m tired. I knew nothing good would come of us trying to hash things out then and there when I was that exhausted. We just would have ended up shouting at each other and making things worse. Honestly, I figured I’d call you tonight or tomorrow and we’d talk things over. It never occurred to me that you’d come and do something like this.”

“I thought…I thought some sort of grand gesture was in order.”

“Unnecessary,” Courfeyrac said, “but very much appreciated.”

Courfeyrac showed his appreciation with a kiss—the exact kind of kiss that Courfeyrac seemed to excel at, the kind that made Combeferre’s heart soar and made him forget that anything existed beyond the two of them in that single moment.

When Courfeyrac pulled back, he had a look of reluctance on his face, like he didn’t want to end this moment any more than Combeferre did.“Now that we’ve gotten that all out of the way,” he said, “Do you think you could do Thanksgiving with my family? It would mean a lot to me.”

Combeferre smiled. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

 

On the last day of school before the Thanksgiving break, Courfeyrac showed up at the elementary school long before the designated pick up time. Lucas’s class was having a Thanksgiving party and Courfeyrac had volunteered to be one of the parent helpers for it since Cosette had assured him that it would in the afternoon after he would only be missing one of his own classes. Bahorel was subbing for him. He didn’t often to get to be involved in Lucas’s school life like this and he reveled in the opportunity. Spending an afternoon with a classroom of kindergartners making turkeys out of construction paper beat grading homework any day. Lucas was delighted to have him around and took great pride in showing him around the classroom and introducing him to all of his friends.

Near the end of the school day as Courfeyrac and the other parent helper tried to corral a bunch of five and six year olds to the sinks at the back of the room to wash their hands, Cosette got a call on the classroom phone. Courfeyrac didn’t think much of it, knowing how mundane and routine calls like that were in his own classroom, but when she hung up, Cosette waved him over.

She was frowning.

“What’s up?” Courfeyrac asked.

“That was the front office,” she said. “A woman claiming to be Lucas’s mother is in the office. She says she has permission to take him home today.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Lucas’s mother? I haven’t heard from her in years. She doesn’t even know where we live. They must be mistaken. It’s probably _my_ mother. She must have forgotten I was picking Lucas up today.”

But Cosette shook her head. “They said that this woman was Lucas’s mother and she’s not on the list of people allowed to pick up Lucas.” A list, Courfeyrac knew, which consisted of himself, his parents, and Jehan. “But the office knew you were here today, so they wanted to know if you wanted to go sort this out yourself.”

Courfeyrac glanced at Lucas, who had just finished washing his hands and was making his construction paper turkey fly through the air with another kid, all smiles and laughter. He looked back to Cosette. “You’ll keep him here till I get back?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m going to see if I can’t get this straightened out then,” he said.

It was a quick trip down to the front office and as soon as he introduced himself at the front desk, the secretary waved him back to the principal’s office. Raised voices carried through the door.

“You don’t understand,” a woman said, her voice eerily familiar, like something out of a dream…or perhaps a nightmare. “I’m Lucas’s _mother_. I don’t see why I can’t take my own son out of school.”

Courfeyrac’s heart raced.

“I’m afraid our hands are tied,” the principal said.  Her voice was firm and unyielding. “Your name isn’t on the list of people allowed to take Lucas out of school. If you’re not on the list, we’re legally not allowed to send Lucas with you. This is something you’ll have to take up with the boy’s father.”

“I’ve already talked it over with him.”

Courfeyrac knocked once on the door and let himself in. Even though he recognized her voice, even though she was the only one who would claim to be Lucas’s mother, Courfeyrac didn’t really expect Charlotte to be standing in the office.

And judging from the look on her face, she hadn’t expected him to show up now either.

It’d been more than five years since he’d woken up to find her gone, and those five years had been good to her. The last time he’d seen her, some of the baby weight still clung to her frame and she’d had dark circles perpetually under her eyes. Her hair then was usually thrown up in a loose, messy bun—oily and unwashed despite Courfeyrac’s best efforts to watch Lucas so she could have a chance to shower. She’d rarely worn make up in the days and weeks after Lucas’s birth and rarely changed out of sweatpants and Courfeyrac’s old t-shirts. Now her hair was shorter, cut in a sleek and professional looking bob, and she was wearing a pencil skirt and fashionable yet sensible shoes. Her figure was a little fuller than it had been when they were nineteen and mostly living off take out and ramen.

She was a woman transformed.

She wore a sparkling diamond ring on her left hand. A wedding ring.

She was married.

Something like panic and fear and longing filled his chest.

“Charlotte,” he said, ignoring the way his voice choked over her name. Did she look at him and think how good he looked five years later or did she notice the bags under his eyes from late nights grading papers and watching over Lucas? Did she notice that his body looked softer and rounder than it had nineteen? If she did, did he care? He wasn’t supposed to care about what she thought. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Lucas,” she said.

“You came…” The shock of seeing her began to wear off and anger rose in it’s place. “If you wanted to see Lucas so bad, where the hell have you been for the last five years?”

“Courf, I understand that this probably seems wild to you—”

“Wild?” he parroted back to her. “No, actually, it seems like you showed up here to kidnap my son!”

“Oh for crying out loud,” she said. “I’m not trying to kidnap anyone. I saw on facebook that you’re living your parents now and I was in town. I was just going to take Lucas out for some ice cream and then take him back to your place.”

“Kidnapping for an hour is still kidnapping,” he said. “Did it not occur to you how freaked out I’d be when he didn’t come home from school like he was supposed to?” He turned to the principal. “We can call the police over this, right?”

If they called the police, he could ask for Javert. He was Valjean’s partner and they’d met once or twice at school functions. Javert would back him up on this.

Charlotte just laughed at him. “You’re really going to call the police?” she said. “You’re overreacting, as usual. I have every right to see my son.”

“You gave up that right when you walked out on him five years ago,” he snapped. “You don’t have any rights to Lucas. You need to leave.”

“A boy deserves to know his mother,” she said.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you abandoned him!”

The principal was trading nervous looks between the two of them. “Ms. Berry,”

“It’s Mrs,” she corrected.

“Mrs. Berry, this really is something you and Mr. Courfeyrac should sort out between yourselves—privately,” she added. “As it is, I can’t release Lucas to you without Mr. Courfeyrac’s permission, and he doesn’t seem too keen on giving that permission at the moment. I’m afraid if you don’t leave, I will be forced to call the police and none of us want that.”

“Actually, I do want that,” Courfeyrac said. “I want that a lot.”

Charlotte picked up her purse from the chair. “I can see that I’m not wanted here,” she said. “It was good seeing you again, Courf. I’ll be in touch with you later to talk about Lucas.”

“Like hell you will,” he muttered once she left. He turned his attention back to the principal. “Is there something I can do to make sure this doesn’t happen again?” he asked, trying to shake the lingering feeling of panic. He couldn’t believe that she had waltzed in here after all these years and tried to leave with his son. _His_ son. Not hers. “She walked out on us five years ago—Lucas doesn’t even know what she looks like. I don’t want her thinking she can just walk in and take him like that.”

“We’ll make a note in his file that she doesn’t have custody and that she doesn’t have permission to see him,” she said. “You may want to inform the police about this if you think it’s likely she’ll try something like this again. We see a lot of ugly custody disputes and it’s useful to have everything on the record.”

“There is no dispute,” Courfeyrac said. “She made it very clear five years ago that she wanted nothing to do with Lucas!” He sighed. It wasn’t appropriate to take out his anger on Lucas’s principal, especially since Courfeyrac didn’t think the principal would actually have let Lucas go anywhere with Charlotte. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess. I’ll be sure to get things cleared up with Charlotte so that it doesn’t happen again.”

He excused himself from the office to find that school had been dismissed for the day and most of the kids were lined up to get on their bus or waiting in the front lobby for their parents to pick them up. Since it was the last day before Thanksgiving break, the kids were excited and louder than they normally would have been. Their chatter and laughter echoed off the walls and Courfeyrac didn’t feel he could relax until he’d arrived at Cosette’s classroom and saw Lucas still waiting for him.

“Were you in trouble?” Lucas asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was already bundled up in his coat and hat and had his backpack on. “Miss F said that you had to go to the principal’s office! Max Corbett had to go there after he pushed Miranda in the mud at recess one time.”

Courfeyrac gave one of Lucas’s curls a gentle tug. “I wasn’t in trouble,” he said, smiling. “They just needed me to take care of boring grown up things.”

Behind Lucas, Cosette raised both her eyebrows in a silent question.

“We got everything sorted,” Courfeyrac told her, not wanting to be more explicit in front of Lucas. “Hopefully it shouldn’t be a problem again.”

* * *

 

When Combeferre pulled into the driveway at Courfeyrac’s place on Thanksgiving, he was startled by the sheer number of cars already in the driveway. For some reason, when Courfeyrac told him that the “whole family” would be in attendance, he thought Courfeyrac just meant his parents and his siblings and their families. Judging by the number of cars, the “whole family” also meant an assortment of aunts and uncles and probably cousins. Courfeyrac had assured him multiple times that there was no need to be nervous about this, but Combeferre suddenly felt Courfeyrac had no idea what he was talking about.

After he parked the car, he fished his phone out of his pocket and texted Courfeyrac to let him know that he was here, hoping that the text would mean that Courf would be the one to answer the door when he knocked and that he wouldn’t have to suffer an interrogation by any of his relatives as soon as he walked in the door.

At the door, he was greeted by a lanky ten year old. He had Courfeyrac’s nose. It was strange to see Courfeyrac’s nose on a child’s face. Or rather on a child’s face that wasn’t Lucas. This had to be one of his nephews. Beyond the boy and the foyer, Combeferre could see a handful of adults milling around, most of them holding a bottle of beer or a glass of wine. Judging from the noise of a dozen conversations bleeding into each other, the people Combeferre could see was only a fraction of the Courfeyrac’s family. The boy at the door cocked his head to the side. “Who’re you?” he asked.

“I, uh, I’m Courf’s—uh, Hugo’s friend.” Courfeyrac wasn’t fond of his first name—he preferred to go by Courf and Combeferre had never used his first name before, but he suspected that this child wasn’t likely to know Courf as Courf.

The boy nodded, then hollered over the shoulder, “Uncle Hugo! It’s for you!”

Combeferre wondered if Courfeyrac could hear the boy over the rest of the noise.

But a moment later, Courfeyrac cut through the throng of adults, grinning widely at Combeferre. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “You better hurry up,” he said to his nephew, “or you’re going to miss your turn in the Smash Brother’s tournament.” The nephew quickly disappeared into the crowd of adults. “Come in, come in,” Courfeyrac said, waving Combeferre in. “It’s freezing out there. I can take your coat. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I was just about to call you to see what held you up. It’s not like you to be late.”

“Sorry about that,” he said. He shrugged out of his coat and unwound his scarf, handing them over to Courfeyrac who stashed them in a closet beside the front door. “Just as I was about to leave, I got a call from a patient of mine—a new mom, her baby’s only a week old, and she thought the kid had pink eye—”

“Let me guess,” Courfeyrac said, “A blocked tear duct?”

Combeferre nodded. “She wasn’t taking my word for it, though. She kept trying to convince me to come into the office to take a look at the baby. It took a half hour before I could convince her that there was nothing to worry about.”

“In her defense,” Courfeyrac said, with an air of parental wisdom, “waking up to see your baby’s eye crusted shut when you’re a new parent is kind of terrifying. I’m not surprised she was so insistent about it.”

“I’m not surprised either,” Combeferre said. “Just a little annoyed at the poor timing.” He sighed and looked around the foyer. It was grand. That was the only word Combeferre had to describe it. Dark wood and plush carpet and a fancy chandelier hanging overhead. It felt more like a posh country club than someone’s home. “So, this is your childhood home?”

“The very same,” Courfeyrac said. “Only it’s better now because my parents can’t get mad at me when I have a beer.” He gave the bottle in his hand a little wave. “But c’mon. Everyone’s dying to meet you.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, my mom and my sister,” Courfeyrac said. “And that’s pretty much everyone who matters. Oh, I should warn you, though, my aunt Sharon is here and she just got through a messy divorce and apparently when she gets drunk—and she hasn’t stopped drinking since she got here—she has a tendency to hit on whoever is nearby. My brother swears she’s made a pass at him already, which is gross but I also think he’s lying, or at least exaggerating. She normally stays away from blood relatives, but I’ll point out Aunt Sharon to you so you can keep your distance.”

Courfeyrac took him by the hand and lead him deeper into the house. He didn’t stop talking the entire time, introducing Combeferre to various relatives and barely letting Combeferre get a word in. Courfeyrac was normally chatty—he knew how to fill up silences better than anyone else Combeferre knew—but something about his talkativeness now felt weird. Courfeyrac was usually more interested in conversations than just hearing the sound of his own voice, but he didn’t seem interested in conversation now. He wondered if Courfeyrac was more anxious about introducing Combeferre to his family than he’d let on. When he was introduced to Courfeyrac’s father, Michael, the man was stone-faced and barely civil—which was the exact sort of welcome Courfeyrac would have faced if he’d been introduced to Combeferre’s parents. But other than Michael’s stiff and half-hearted welcome, no one else seemed to bothered by the fact that Courfeyrac had invited his boyfriend along. Some of them even seemed thrilled to meet Combeferre in that awkward way that older conservative-leaning folks tended to be when they wanted to show how understanding and progressive they were.

Courfeyrac didn’t seem to relax, though, until he pulled Combeferre over to meet a woman who balanced a baby on her hip while she watched the football game in the living room.

“This is my sister, Josie,” Courfeyrac said. The resemblance between the two was uncanny. She had Courfeyrac’s bright smile and they had the same dark, curly hair. “Josie, this is Adrien, my boyfriend.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said. Her voice was warm and Combeferre could tell that she was legitimately happy to meet him. “You’re going to have to tell me all about yourself, because unfortunately my brother hasn’t said a word about you.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Courfeyrac said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve told her plenty, she’s just an incurable snoop.”

“I know you’re a doctor,” she said. “That’s literally all I know. Come here—” She reached out and took him by the arm, steering him away from the living room. “—I know a quiet place we can talk.”

“If you’re stealing my boyfriend, I get to steal your baby,” Courfeyrac said, holding his arms out to take the baby from his sister.

“How is that fair?”

“It’s a good trade,” he said. “Come on—Corina needs to bond with her uncle Courf.”

“Stop trying to make Uncle Courf a thing,” she said.

“I don’t see why you’re so resistant to it,” he said. “You and Mom are the only ones who call me Hugo—even David calls me Courf.”

“Yeah, well, David’s always been a bit of an idiot,” she said, handing the baby over to Courfeyrac.

With a baby in his arms, Courfeyrac didn’t seem at all bothered to watch his sister drag Combeferre away to interrogate him, which made Combeferre think that Courfeyrac knew this was going to happen. In which case, shame on him for not giving Combeferre any warning.

Josie led him to a quiet alcove by the window where they still had a good view of the football game on in the living room—and of Courfeyrac fawning over his baby niece.

She asked him the usual sort of questions to get to know him—all about family and work and hobbies. It was definitely an interrogation, despite how cheery Josie seemed to be, but the whole time they talked, Combeferre couldn’t keep his eyes off Courfeyrac.

He’d seen Courfeyrac around children before, of course. Ever since his and Courfeyrac’s argument two weeks ago, Combeferre had been making an effort to take Courfeyrac out more and to also spend more time with both Courfeyrac and Lucas. Lucas had thought it funny that he was seeing his doctor in his house at first, but he quickly warmed up to Combeferre and Combeferre enjoyed spending time with Lucas and Courfeyrac together. He’d seen Courf in the roles of friend and lover and it was fascinating and heart-warming all at once to see him in the role of father.

But there was something different about seeing Courfeyrac with a baby.

Maybe one day he and Courfeyrac could have a baby of their own. He suspected that Courfeyrac wouldn’t mind having another kid and Lucas would make a great big brother…

He yanked himself away from that dangerous line of thought and realized that Josie had asked him yet another question and was still waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you repeat that?”

Josie just laughed. “You know, I dragged you over here to find out what your intentions were for my brother. He was pretty broken up when you broke up with him back in September and I wanted to make sure that you weren’t just playing with his heart now. I had a very nice _if you hurt him, I_ _’ll hurt you_ speech prepared, but after watching you stare at him for the last fifteen minutes, I don’t think it’s going to be necessary.” Her smile softened, like she knew just how smitten Combeferre was. “There’s no chance of you hurting him again, is there?”

“Not if I can help it,” Combeferre said.

“Good,” she said, patting his arm. “Hugo’s been hurt before and I really want nothing more than to see him happy. He’s been so agitated today…I thought maybe there was trouble between the two of you, but I can see now that whatever is bothering him, it has nothing to do with you. Welcome to the family, Adrien. I hope you stick around for a good long while.”

After having won Josie’s approval, the rest of the holiday passed uneventfully. Courfeyrac finished making introductions and then led Combeferre to the basement, where Lucas and the other kids were having a Super Smash Brother’s tournament under the watchful eye of Courfeyrac’s older brother, David. David spent the whole time on his phone, occasionally looking up to remind the kids to take turns when one kid or another started yelling. Courf, unsurprisingly, turned out to be a much better referee for the tournament than his brother was.

Thanksgiving dinner was served at three and Combeferre was seated between Courf and Josie—and far away from Courfeyrac’s dad. Courf assured him it was for the best. Throughout the meal, Courfeyrac maintained his anxious chatter from earlier in the day. No one but Combeferre and Josie seemed to notice anything was amiss and Combeferre promised himself to talk to Courf about it later tonight, having learned his lesson about relying on Courfeyrac to broach the subject when something was wrong.

They lingered at Courf’s parents’ house until well after the sun had set, chatting with his mom and his sister. When Lucas fell asleep on the couch while watching a movie with his cousins, Courfeyrac scooped him up and suggested to Combeferre that they go back to his place.

Combeferre made himself comfortable in Courf’s living room while Courf got Lucas tucked into bed, and once Lucas was safely asleep in the other room, Courfeyrac flopped down on the couch beside Combeferre and heaved a dramatic sigh.

For the first time all day, he didn’t immediately launch into conversation.

The quiet between them wasn’t at all uncomfortable and Combeferre waited a few minutes before speaking—enjoying the silence before he broke it.

“Okay,” Combeferre said. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? You’ve seemed a little…odd all day.”

Courfeyrac sighed and sank deeper into the couch and leaned against Combeferre’s shoulder. “Charlotte—that’s Lucas’s mom—she’s in town.”

He nodded. Courfeyrac didn’t talk much about Lucas’s mother and Combeferre avoided the subject, unwilling to bring up a subject that was clearly uncomfortable for Courfeyrac. “I assume she’s gotten in touch with you then?”

“Something like that,” Courfeyrac said. “She tried to pick Lucas up from school the other day.”

“I thought Lucas didn’t know her.”

“He doesn’t,” Courfeyrac said flatly. “She just shows up out of the blue five years later and all of a sudden assumes that she should just be able to be a part of his life—without even consulting me, no less! Like maybe if she’d called me first or something and wanted to get in touch with Lucas and _talked_ to me about it, maybe then I’d be okay taking him to meet her or something. But no. She shows up at his school and tries to take him home—she said she was just going to drop him off at my parents’ place afterwards, but who knows if she’s lying or not! She could have run off with him and she doesn’t know the first thing about him!”

As Courfeyrac spoke, the words tumbled out of his mouth faster and faster and his voice was tense by the end. Panic. Courfeyrac was panicked. Combeferre reached out and pulled him close.

“The school would never let her take him out of school without your permission,” he said. He had seen custody battles like this before. Working with the women from the shelter, it was unavoidable. Too many jackass fathers trying to use their own children as leverage against their wives or girlfriends. But it meant that Combeferre had a fairly good handle on how schools handled these sorts of custody disputes considering he’d never actually been involved with one.

“But it’s not just school,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s—everything. Anywhere. Any time. I feel like I can’t relax because I’m constantly worried she’s just going to show up again. She left out of the blue five years ago and now, just as unexpectedly, she shows back up and expects things to be a certain way between us and I can’t. I can’t deal with this. I thought I was done with this part of my life.”

“Maybe this is your chance to really get everything put behind you,” Combeferre suggested. “Cut ties or make amends or do whatever you need to to be done with her once and for all and move on with your life.”

“That’s the thing,” Courfeyrac said. “I thought I _had_ moved on with my life. I made peace with the fact that she wasn’t coming back years ago, so now that she _is_ back, I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do!”

“Do you…do you know for certain that she’s back for good? I mean, this could just be a passing thing, couldn’t it? Maybe she just wanted to see you and Lucas.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “She said she’d be in touch,” he said. “And she’s stubborn. If she’s decided that she wants to be back in Lucas’s life—or whatever the hell it is she actually wants—she’s not just going to let the subject drop until she gets her way. I can’t—I can’t lose Lucas.” His voice turned desperate again and it was all Combeferre could do not to walk to the ends of the earth to somehow fix all of this.

“You’re not going to lose Lucas,” Combeferre said. “Whatever she wants—the two of you will work it out like adults and I will be here every step of the way for you. Whatever you need from me to get you through this, you have it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who kudos'd and commented and has generally been lovely and supportive! Sorry I wasn't prompt in responding to comments. My Real Life is still very much in full swing--it's good, but my schedule is ten kinds of bananas these days and I easily lose track of time. Thank you for being so patient with me!
> 
> The next chapter should be up at the end of June. In the meantime, you can follow me on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for writing updates and general tom foolery!


	15. Chapter 15

Courfeyrac had never deleted Charlotte’s number from his phone, nor had he changed his number from the time the two of them had been together. At first, it’d been because he had desperately hoped that she’d reach out to him and after a while, her number listed in his contacts just became a fixture. Something that was always there. Almost like a scar.

But even with that, he wasn’t expecting to see her name pop up on his screen while he watched his students take a test on the Wednesday after Thanksgiving.

[Charlotte] I think we should talk

[Courfeyrac] At work. Can’t talk.

[Charlotte] Not right now obviously. You’re not the only one who works.

He wondered briefly what she did professionally—when they had dated, she’d been taking acting classes, but she didn’t look much like an actress now. Before he could ponder it too much, she’d followed up with another message.

[Charlotte] We need to talk about Lucas. I want to see my son

He sent his next message without taking the time to filter himself.

[Courfeyrac] Maybe you should have thought about that before walking out on him five years ago

[Charlotte] That’s unfair and you know it

[Courfeyrac] Actually it’s not. You’ve had five years to try and have a relationship with him. You don’t get to waltz in here and suddenly demand one now

[Charlotte] You’re being petty and letting your own hurt feelings get in the way

[Courfeyrac] I’m doing what’s best for my son

[Charlotte] Our son

[Courfeyrac] You haven’t been much of a mother. So no. He’s MY son. You’re not a part of this picture

[Charlotte] And I’m trying to change that. You’re the one with a stick up his ass

[Courfeyrac] You have had FIVE YEARS to change that. My phone number obviously hasn’t changed. You could have reached out at any time

[Charlotte] I’m reaching out NOW. You don’t get to decide that five years is some magical number where all of a sudden my efforts don’t matter anymore

[Courfeyrac] Lucas is old enough now to be hurt when you leave again and I’m not going to let that happen

[Charlotte] I’m not going to leave again

_Well, you sure as hell aren_ _’t moving in either,_ he thought bitterly.

[Courfeyrac] Your track record isn’t working in your favor

[Charlotte] I know I screwed up, okay? You think I don’t realize that? But things were hell five years ago and I’ve finally got my life together again and I want to meet my son

[Courfeyrac] You’ve already met him. You had six weeks of getting to know him before you decided to leave

[Charlotte] And I’m trying to make up for that now

Courfeyrac didn’t respond. He had nothing left to say. Perhaps agreeing to meet with Charlotte would be big of him, make him the better person in this messed up scenario, but he really didn’t want to see her again and he especially didn’t want Lucas to get hurt in all of this.  Lucas didn’t ask much about his mother—not anymore, at least. He’d gone through a phase last summer, back before the seizure nightmare began, asking Courfeyrac why some of his friends had mommies and he didn’t. Courfeyrac couldn’t bear to tell Lucas that his mother didn’t love him enough to stick around when life got hard, so instead he’d talked about how families come in all shapes and sizes. It didn’t matter that Lucas’s mom was gone, because he still had his dad, who loved him to pieces and was happy to do the work of both parents. He wasn’t sure how much Lucas understood, but he’d stopped asking questions about it. It was a delicate balance and Courfeyrac wasn’t going to disturb it just to put Charlotte’s mind at ease. She was the adult. She had made her choices, and she could suffer the consequences for them, not Lucas.

After a few minutes of silence from Charlotte, his phone buzzed again.

[Charlotte] I hate to do this, Courf, but I will get lawyers involved if you’re not willing to meet up and talk this over

Courfeyrac nearly swore out loud before remembering that he was in a room full of teenagers who were trying very hard to focus on the test in front of them. He bit his tongue.

[Courfeyrac] Lawyers, Char? REALLY?

[Charlotte] If you meet up with me, then the lawyers won’t be necessary. I want to get to know my son and I’m not going to let your stubbornness stop that

Courfeyrac drummed his fingers on his desk, taking a long moment to think it over.

[Courfeyrac] I’ll agree to meet with you, but Lucas is NOT coming

[Charlotte] Don’t be like that

[Courfeyrac] No. Until we’ve sorted this out ourselves, Lucas isn’t getting involved. He’s a little boy. I’m not going to let him get hurt

[Charlotte] I’m not going to hurt him

[Courfeyrac] I’m not budging on this. Either you agree to meet without him, or you can go ahead and call your lawyer

A minute passed. Then two.

[Charlotte] Fine. I’m free tomorrow night. Does that work for you?

[Courfeyrac] Meet me at the Musain Cafe at 8. We’ll talk but I won’t promise anything more than that.

* * *

 

Craving a sense of security, Courfeyrac showed up to the Musain early. Lucas was still at home, under the watchful eye of Courfeyrac’s mother. She’d asked if he was meeting up with Combeferre tonight, and he’d lied and said yes because he didn’t want to tell her that Charlotte was lurking around. At least not yet. If she went through with her threat of legal action, he’d probably have to tell his parents because he wouldn’t be able to afford a lawyer on his own, but until then, he wanted to keep this to himself.

Something about the end of his relationship with Charlotte always fostered a sense of shame in him that he never could stand to give voice to. Her abandonment left him feeling…less than. Like there was something fundamentally wrong with him and that’s why she ran off. That shame and insecurity had come back with a vengeance since she showed up at Lucas’s school the week before.

Which was why he’d chosen to meet her at the Musain. It gave him something of a home field advantage. He’d become a semi-regular guest here since starting to come to the Les Amis meetings at the middle of the October. Regular enough that he knew the owners and most of the staff by name—he liked knowing people’s names, even if they were just the part-time employee who occasionally made him a latte—and on weekdays, it wasn’t uncommon to see other people from Les Amis hanging around the coffee shop. Joly—who happened to be one of the dads of Lucas’s best friend at school—would often stop by on his way into his job at the hospital to grab a coffee. If he was coming off of a shift, he was usually accompanied by Bossuet and Musichetta, his partners. (Courfeyrac was secretly jealous that they had children old enough to watch the younger ones so that all three of them could go out at the same time, even if it was just for a short time.) And Jehan and Bahorel lurked around the Musain sometimes, still existing in the limbo between friendship and dating. The cafe was far enough away from the school that they didn’t have to worry about seeing students there.

And, of course, Combeferre was a regular fixture at the cafe.

None of his friends were around tonight—which Courfeyrac was grateful for because he really didn’t want an audience to this conversation with Charlotte—and Courfeyrac ordered the sweetest drink on the menu and bunkered down at a table near the back where he had a clear view of the door.

He tried not to think of all the ways this could go wrong. Logically, Courfeyrac knew that legally Charlotte didn’t have much to stand on. She’d left them and not shown any interest in Lucas for years. He’d never filed abandonment charges, but he was pretty sure that a five year absence counted as abandonment by default. And then there was the whole mess with her trying to pick Lucas up from school. Any lawyer would be able to spin a kidnapping charge out of that and that wouldn’t look good to a judge. If this went to court, a sympathetic judge might require supervised visitation on occasion, but that was it.

But still…but still he worried. If it came to lawyers, he didn’t look like a perfect parent. If he wasn’t living with his parents, he wouldn’t be able to properly take care of Lucas. The only reason he didn’t have debt collectors at his door was because he’d set up a payment plan at the hospital back in Rochester and he always made sure to make his minimum payments. He’d lost his job. If he hadn’t moved back in with his parents, he would have lost his apartment in a matter of months. He didn’t have much in the way of savings anymore. One more medical crisis would have him and Lucas living paycheck to paycheck again. Charlotte appeared to have a good job. Probably her husband did too. That wasn’t nothing.

And then there was the lingering fear that, if Charlotte insisted on taking this to court, their case would be assigned to a conservative judge—one who thought Lucas would be better off with his mother and her husband and not with his queer dad who hadn’t been in a stable relationship in ages and could barely hold a job down.

His coffee was getting cold by the time Charlotte arrived, and he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt—that she’d just gotten lost in an unfamiliar town or that she’d gotten stuck in traffic somewhere—but part of him couldn’t help but suspect that this was some sort of power play on her part. She wanted to call the shots at this meeting. She wanted to remind him that he was waiting on _her_ and not the other way around.

He shoved those pessimistic thoughts aside because they wouldn’t help him right now at all.

Of course, when he realized that the man who had followed her into the cafe had come _with_ her and not simply arrived at the same time as her, all of those thoughts came rushing back.

Courfeyrac stood when they approached his table, determined to handle this gracefully even though he was starting to feel sick to his stomach. Charlotte had the gall to hug him.

“Courf, this is my husband, Benjamin Berry,” she said, introducing the man who stood beside her.

Benjamin was unremarkable in appearance—medium height, average weight. His hair was a light shade of brown and his eyes a washed out blue…or maybe a washed out green. It was hard to tell. His handshake was firm.

“I thought it would just be the two of us,” Courfeyrac said as they all took a seat. Whether or not her tardy arrival was a bid for the upper-hand in this conversation, Courfeyrac couldn’t say for certain, but he knew that Benjamin’s presence _was_ some sort of power play. It wasn’t just a one-on-one conversation between ex-lovers. Now it was Courfeyrac, alone, with Charlotte and her husband. Two against one.

“I thought Benjamin should come,” she said. “He’s just as involved in this as I am.”

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. “Really? This total stranger—no offense—is as much a part of this as you and me are? As Lucas’s actual parents are?”

Benjamin curled his hand around Charlotte’s. “We’re a team,” he said. “Charlotte and I both want the chance to get to know her son. We want the chance to be just as involved in his life as you are.”

“Well, that’s going to be a little difficult,” Courfeyrac said tersely. He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug to give himself something to hold onto. “Seeing as how I’ve been involved in his life from the beginning and the two of you have just sort of showed up unexpectedly and unannounced.” _And uninvited_.

“It’s like I told you earlier,” Charlotte said. “I know I made a mistake leaving like I did, but I want the chance to make that right. Lucas is as much my son as he is yours.”

“Maybe that was true in the beginning,” he said, “but Lucas doesn’t even remember you at this point. You’re a stranger to him. You’re not his parent any more than Benjamin here is.”

“And all I’m asking for is the chance to change that,” she said.

“So what exactly do you want?” he asked. If she was sincere about this, if she really wanted to have a relationship with Lucas, he wouldn’t stand in her way as long as Lucas was okay with it. But this would be done on his terms, not hers.

“Joint custody,” she said.

“No.”

“Benjamin and I live in the city, so we’re not too far from here. Lucas can stay with us on the weekends and we can alternate holidays.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Courf, be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable,” he said. “I have been his sole guardian for five years. He doesn’t know either of you and you just want to whisk him away every weekend?”

“Lots of kids split time between their parents’ homes,” she said. “You’d get him the majority of the time. I hardly think that I’m asking for too much!”

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he said. “Maybe— _maybe_ we could talk about some sort of joint custody when he’s older and gotten to know you a bit better, but sorry, I’m not going to ship my five year old off to stay with people I barely even know.”

“He is my son.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said. “And we’ve been over this. _He doesn_ _’t know who you are_. What do I have to say to make you get it? I mean, maybe we could start off with some supervised visits until he says he’s comfortable staying with you, but I’m not just going to drop him off at your place in an unfamiliar city every weekend—especially not with his health issues. Hell, this would just be asking for a relapse.”

Charlotte and Benjamin exchanged a troubled look.

“Health issues?” Charlotte asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing is wrong with him,” Courfeyrac said, tugging his hand through his hair. “He’s a perfectly healthy and normal little boy, except for the fact that he has a seizure disorder.”

“He has seizures?” Charlotte repeated, sounding mortified. Part of Courfeyrac hoped that she’d change her mind about wanting to be a part of Lucas’s life if she deemed him less than perfect. “What did you do to him?”

“What do you mean, what did I do to him?”

“He wasn’t sick when I left!”

“He was six weeks old when you left,” he snapped. “You think he was never going to get sick? That nothing bad was ever going to happen to him? Welcome to the realities of parenthood, Charlotte!”

“You must have done something,” Charlotte said. “Epilepsy doesn’t run in my family. This isn’t genetic.”

“Just because it’s not genetic doesn’t mean I did something to cause this! You want to know what I’ve done since he started having seizures? I’ve held his hand at every fucking doctor’s appointment. I’ve held him while he cried because his friends stopped playing with him after he had a seizure on the playground. I’ve nearly bankrupted myself making sure that he’s had the best doctors, the best specialists, the best support team to get him what he needs to thrive in life. I’ve watched over him while he slept to make sure he wasn’t having seizures at night. I’ve celebrated with him when we finally found a medication that works to keep the seizures in check—and I’ve done this all on my own, Charlotte, so don’t you fucking blame any of this on me.”

“You don’t need to use that sort of language with her,” Benjamin said.

“You can shut the hell up,” Courfeyrac snapped at him. “Because it’s thanks to her that I’ve done this all on my own, so forgive me if I don’t feel terribly generous at the moment.”

“I think we all need to take a step back,” Charlotte said. She rested her hand on top of Benjamin’s, as though to keep him in check. “This was just a shock, Courf. You’ve had a lot longer to deal with this than we have. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I certainly shouldn’t have tried to blame this on you. How long ago was Lucas diagnosed?”

“He started having the seizures last fall,” he said. “We didn’t get an official diagnosis till a few months later.”

“And you said he’s on a medication that’s helping?”

He nodded. “He’s only had one seizure since he started on it over the summer,” he said. “And the doctor agrees that it was just a fluke thing—like a breakthrough seizure. The medication is still working.”

“Good,” Charlotte said. “That’s good. I’m glad…I’m glad Lucas has had you to look after him through all of this.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Obviously, Benjamin and I will make sure we know how to do whatever we need to take care of Lucas when he comes to stay with us,” she said. “I bet we can find classes—”

“We haven’t agreed on anything yet,” Courfeyrac said.

“Be reasonable, Courf.”

“I think I am being reasonable,” he said. “And not to sound like a broken record, but it’s a little ridiculous for you to come here and demand joint custody when you don’t even know Lucas. Hell, you barely even know me at this point. Five years is a long time.”

“I know it’s a long time,” she said sharply. For the first time, her perfect facade seemed to crack just a little. “I shouldn’t have left. I get it. Trust me. But you don’t know what it was like back then. You don’t know what I was going through. I was—”

“I was there, Charlotte,” he said. “I was right there the whole time. You think I don’t remember how he wouldn’t sleep unless he one of us was rocking him? About how he would scream inconsolably every night from six to ten? We were in the trenches together and I did whatever I could to take some of the burden off you. If you needed something more from me, you could have said so instead of just leaving!”

Before Charlotte could respond, Combeferre had materialized at Courfeyrac’s side. He’d been too caught up in his conversation to notice that Combeferre had arrived at the cafe at all and having him here—now—was distinctly disorienting, like two worlds colliding in a most unpleasantly spectacular way.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” Combeferre said, bending down for a kiss, which Courfeyrac willing gave. “You should have told me you were coming and—oh, you’ve got company,” he said, as though just realizing that Courfeyrac wasn’t alone. “Who’re your friends?”

“This is Charlotte,” Courfeyrac said. “She’s, uh, she’s Lucas’s mother.”

“Oh,” Combeferre said. His face flushed, undoubtedly realizing that he’d just walked in on a very fraught conversation.

Courfeyrac gestured to Benjamin. “And this is her husband, Benjamin Berry.”

“Oh!” Combeferre’s voice jumped up nearly an octave. Courfeyrac didn’t remember if he’d mentioned to Combeferre that Charlotte was married now. After an awkward moment were Combeferre just stared at Charlotte and Benjamin, he put one hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and extended the other one towards Charlotte and Benjamin to shake. “I’m Adrien Combeferre,” he said. “Courfeyrac’s boyfriend.”

His tone was self-assured, almost like he was daring Charlotte and Benjamin to pass judgment and Courfeyrac felt the balance of the conversation shift in his favor. Charlotte had been unsettling him all night and this was the first time he managed to return the favor. Courfeyrac made a note to thank Combeferre for his fantastic timing later.

“I, uh, I didn’t realize you were gay,” Benjamin said, startled. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I’ve got a cousin who’s gay and he’s—he’s great. Just really great.”

“He’s bi, actually,” Combeferre and Charlotte said at the same time.

An awkward silence passed between the four of them until Combeferre cleared his throat.

“Well, do you want me to stay or…?”

“You can go,” Courfeyrac said, grateful that he asked. “It’s fine. We’re just…talking over some stuff. If you stick around, I’ll come find you afterward.”

“I’ll just wait over there,” Combeferre said, gesturing to a cluster of empty tables near the door. He leaned down for another kiss and then excused himself.

“So how long has that been going on?” Charlotte asked. She gave Combeferre an odd look as he walked away.

Was she jealous? Combeferre was unquestionably more attractive than Benjamin was. He hoped she was jealous.

“We met at the beginning of the school year,” Courfeyrac said. “And we’ve been taking things slow since then, but we’ve been officially together for about a month now.”

“Taking things slow, huh?” Charlotte said. “That doesn’t sound like the Courfeyrac I knew in college.”

“Yeah, well, that Courfeyrac was still a teenager,” he said. “I’m an adult now with a real job and a kid and everything. I can’t afford to just rush into things.”

“Does Lucas know about him?”

“Lucas has met him,” he said. He decided not to mention that Lucas just knew Combeferre as Daddy’s Special Friend and didn’t have an understanding of the romantic ties between them yet. “Lucas is quite fond of him, actually.”

Something like irritation flashed behind her eyes and he tried not to smirk. It was petty, definitely, but he enjoyed needling her like this.

“Well,” she said shortly, “back to the matter at hand because I obviously wouldn’t want to keep you. Despite all of your protests, I still want the chance to have a relationship with my son and if you’re not amendable to this, then we’re going to get our lawyer involved and we’ll take care of this in a court room instead of a coffee shop.”

“Don’t you think that’s rushing things a little?” he asked. “You’re asking to have him every weekend when, as I’ve said a dozen times already, Lucas doesn’t even know you. You want to get to know your son? Fine, let’s start with supervised visits and then later—much later—when Lucas is feeling confident, then we talk about him staying with you overnight, but not a minute before hand.”

“I am his mother—”

“You _abandoned_ him,” Courfeyrac said. “You walked out without so much as leaving a note for us. If you really want to take all of this to court, have fun explaining that to a judge.”

“Courf, I was depressed, okay? The whole pregnancy was hard and then afterwards, I just—I couldn’t—”

“Lots of women deal with post-partum depression,” Courfeyrac said. “But they talk to their partners and they get help. They don’t walk out the door for five years. I knew things were rough on you, Char, but you rebuffed every attempt I made to help you out and you wouldn’t talk to me about how you were feeling and I’m not responsible for that. That’s on you.”

“So because I couldn’t handle being a mother when I was still practically a teenager, I shouldn’t get that chance now?”

“No one is stopping you from being a mom,” Courfeyrac said. “You and Benjamin here can have all the kids you want. Literally no one is stopping you. But if you want a relationship with Lucas, we’re going to do this on my terms. I’m not going to let him get hurt when you decide that being a mom isn’t what you want. He’s a little boy. He doesn’t need that. And I’m his father, so really, it is my call.”

“Yeah, except that you’re not.”

Courfeyrac blinked at her. “I’m not what?”

“I didn’t want to bring this up,” she said. “But you haven’t given me a choice. You’re not Lucas’s dad. Not biologically.”

 For a long second, the world around him stilled and all he could hear was a deafening roar in his ears. “What…what do you mean? Of course I’m his dad.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Look, I’m not proud of it, but I was a pretty screwed up nineteen year old and you’re not the only guy I was sleeping with.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I cheated on you, Courf.”

“But we were still having sex too. You don’t know that I’m not—”

“Trust me, I know,” she said. “There’s no way you’re the father.”

“You’re lying.”

She shook her head. “I’d gone to a party at one of those frat houses and I was mad at you because you wouldn’t come with me because you were too busy with some volunteer thing. I got drunk and I hooked up with this guy—Marcus Bamford was his name—and when I found out I was pregnant…” She shrugged. “I was already dating you. We were already talking about moving in together. And I knew you’d make a better dad than Marcus would. I lied.”

Abruptly, he pushed away from the table and got to his feet. His knees felt unsteady. “I need to go,” he said, trying to keep his breath even, trying to push back the panic that threaten to drown him. “We’ll talk later.”

Before she could say anything more, he ran out of the cafe.

* * *

 

Combeferre watched from across the cafe as Courfeyrac hurriedly said his goodbyes to Charlotte and Benjamin and then bolted outside without even bothering to grab his coat off the back of his chair. He waited until Charlotte and Benjamin were gone, gathered up Courfeyrac’s coat, and then went to go find him.

Courfeyrac wasn’t waiting outside, nor was he in one of the neighboring shops that were still open. Combeferre thought about calling him until he spotted Courfeyrac’s beat up old Toyota at the far end of the parking lot. A street lamp provided just enough light for Combeferre to see Courfeyrac in the car, huddled over the steering wheel.

His shoulders were shaking.

He hurried over and tapped on the passenger’s side window. When he heard the door unlock, he let himself in and draped Courfeyrac’s coat over his shoulder.

“Courf, is…is everything okay?”

Courfeyrac looked up at him. His face was stained with half-dried tears, though he didn’t seem to be crying anymore. He was, however, hyperventilating. Combeferre considered this a small miracle. He knew—clinically, at least—how to handle hyperventilation and panic attacks. He was much less adept at knowing what to do when someone was crying.

Especially someone he cared for as much as Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac gasped at him a little but didn’t seem able to string words together.

“It’s okay,” Combeferre said, grabbing a hold of his hand. “I’m going to count breaths for you, okay? Do you think you can breathe with me?”

When Courfeyrac nodded, Combeferre started coaching him gently, asking him to breathe in for seven counts and then breathe out. He kept his voice quiet and calm and steady and let Courfeyrac slowly come back to himself. When Courfeyrac was breathing normally on his own, Combeferre stopped counting, but he didn’t let go of Courfeyrac’s hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Doesn’t feel like the world is ending anymore,” Courfeyrac muttered.

“What—can I ask what happened?”

“She said he’s not mine.”

Combeferre frowned, trying to think what Courfeyrac could possibly mean by this. “What—Lucas?”

“She said she cheated on me, that it was some one night stand with a frat boy who would’ve made a terrible dad, so she just let me think that he was mine, but she swears now that he’s not. She’s trying to take him away from me. I can’t lose him, Combeferre. I can’t lose my son. He’s all I have. I can’t—”

“You’re not going to lose him,” Combeferre said.

“But he’s not mine. She said he’s not mine and she’s going to drag us to court because I won’t just let her have joint custody and they’re going to take him away from me and—”

“Courf, she’s probably lying,” he said. “She’s just trying to get in your head.” And he, quite frankly, wanted to murder her for it. “Lucas looks just like you—you have the same hair, the same eyes, the same dimples. If that is not a genetic resemblance, I’ll eat my shoe.”

That startled a laugh out of Courfeyrac. Good. He wasn’t so upset that he couldn’t laugh.

“And no court in this country is going to take an epileptic five year old away from the only home he’s ever known and give him to complete strangers.”

“You don’t know that,” Courfeyrac said. “All it takes is one conservative judge—one person who thinks Lucas would be better off with—with the mother he’s never met and her new husband than his queer single dad who can barely afford to pay his bills—”

“So we’ll find a good lawyer,” Combeferre said. “Enjolras doesn’t do family law, but I’m sure he knows someone who does. And if he can’t find someone, the women I know from the shelter I work with will surely know a dozen odd lawyers who can handle custody disputes. You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me and our friends and, having met your parents, I sincerely doubt your mother is going to let anyone take Lucas anywhere without her approval. Charlotte…she was messing with your head. She knows you too well, and when you wouldn’t give her what she wanted, she struck where she knew you’d be vulnerable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right,” he conceded, “I have no way of knowing that for certain, but I’m still willing to bet on it. Besides, you’re the one listed on Lucas’s birth certificate. You’re the one she wanted to be legally recognized as Lucas’s father. That’s going to count for a lot if she brings this to court. And we can go ahead and do a paternity test and prove to her that you _are_ Lucas’s dad. This isn’t over, okay? She can’t take Lucas anywhere without a fight, so we’ll give her a fight and I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

“You promise?”

“Of course.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes were wide in the darkness and he looked so incredibly fragile, but at Combeferre’s reassurance, he looked just a little stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter. I don't have much in the way of time these days so I never got around to responding individually, but I read and appreciate every comment!
> 
> If all goes according to plan, the next chapter will be up at the end of July and until then, you can stay tuned to my [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com) for updates and general nonsense!


	16. Chapter 16

Courfeyrac waited until the weekend to talk to Lucas about what was going on. He had wanted to wait until he felt he had a better grip on the situation, but he was coming to realize that he was _never_ going to have a better grip on this situation and it was better that Lucas be at least marginally informed about what was happening instead of letting him find out from Charlotte somehow.

(Lucas’s school had strict orders not to let Charlotte anywhere near Lucas and this wasn’t the first custody dispute the school had seen, so Courfeyrac trusted them to keep Lucas safe, but he didn’t trust Charlotte.)

So he cleared his schedule for Saturday and promised Lucas that it would be a special daddy-son day, just the two of them. Lucas had been thrilled at the prospect. Courfeyrac always tried to make time for his little boy, but the realities of being a single working parent meant that sacrifices often had to be made and it was rare that he was able to spend an entire day with Lucas.

In the morning, they made breakfast together, using a fancy cookbook that Courfeyrac’s mom had dropped off earlier in the week. Fluffy blueberry pancakes and maple-roasted bacon and poached eggs. They ate together in their pajamas in the blanket fort that Lucas had constructed in the living room the night before. When they were done eating, Lucas helped Courfeyrac do up the dishes, though mostly he just got water and soap all over the kitchen. Courfeyrac didn’t mind though. A little water and soap wouldn’t hurt the kitchen in the long run.

Lucas was busy planning out the rest of the day for them. “We need to get dressed,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “and then we can go to Pizza Palace! And I can play in the ball pit and you can do that one game and win us lots of tickets!”

“We just had breakfast, buddy,” he said. “I’m not sure if going straight to Pizza Palace is the best idea.”

“But you said we could do whatever I wanted today.”

“I did,” he said, “and we can, but I think we still need to be practical. How about you pick something else to do right now and we can go to Pizza Palace for dinner?”

Lucas’s eyes went wide with excitement. “You promise?”

“Of course I promise,” he said. “So what should we do before then?”

Lucas frowned a little as he pondered the matter. “Oh, we can go to the science museum! Miss Cosette told us all about it at school and there’s lots of things to explore and they even let you touch some of the stuff—not like at that boring museum we went to last year.”

 “We can definitely go to the science museum,” Courfeyrac said, “but we need to talk about something first.”

Courfeyrac tugged Lucas towards the couch—which had been turned around so it faced the hall instead of the TV in the living room so it could act as a supporting wall in Lucas’s fort.

Lucas pulled away. “I’m not in trouble. I didn’t do anything bad.”

“No, no,” Courfeyrac said with a reassuring smile. “Of course, you’re not in trouble. I know how good you’ve been. Miss Cosette said so in the letter she sent home before Thanksgiving break.”

“Then why do you have your stern face?”

“My stern face?” Courfeyrac said, laughing a little. He patted the couch cushion next to him to invite Lucas to snuggle up next to him.

Lucas clambered onto the couch and nodded. “Your stern face looks like this,” he said, frowning a little and furrowing his brows in an exaggeration of the look Courfeyrac often did wear when he was worried about something. “You only look like that when I’ve done something bad or when you’re gonna tell me something bad.” At that, Lucas’s expression cleared and he cocked his head to the side. “Are you gonna tell me something bad?”

“It’s not bad,” Courfeyrac said. “Not necessarily, but it is very important and it’s something that’s hard to talk about—even for daddies.”

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he declared. “We should just go to the museum.”

“We can go to the museum afterwards,” Courfeyrac said. “But part of our Daddy and Son Day is about talking about important things, so we’re going to do that first.”

Lucas sighed, resigned, and then snuggled back into the couch cushions.

Courfeyrac angled his body so that they could see each other properly. “Do you remember what I told you about your mom when you asked about her?”

“You said that she wasn’t ready to be a mommy when I was born and but that she loved me and that’s why she left me with such a good daddy because she knew that you would always take care of me and that it doesn’t matter that I don’t have a mommy anymore because families are people who love each other and no family looks like another one.”

Courfeyrac didn’t remember being so self-aggrandizing when they’d had this talk, but if Lucas thought he was a good dad, then he wasn’t going to complain. “That’s right,” he said. “Well, your mom called me the other day and she said that she’s ready to be a mom now and that she wants to meet you.”

“No,” Lucas said immediately. “I don’t want to meet her.”

Courfeyrac had been prepared for the protest—but he hadn’t been prepared for the unmistakable hurt in Lucas’s voice. Courfeyrac had known, of course, that being abandoned by his own mother would be hard for Lucas to deal with, but the pain in his son’s voice made that knowledge all too real. “Lucas—”

“No,” Lucas said. “I don’t want to meet her and you can’t make me! She didn’t want to be my mom when I was a baby and I don’t want her to be my mom now!”

“If it were up to me,” Courfeyrac said, pulling Lucas close to him, “you wouldn’t ever have to meet her until you wanted to. But…but it might not be up to me.”

“What do you mean?” Lucas asked slowly.

He took a deep breath and tried to figure out how best to explain this. “You know how sometimes when you and a friend get into an argument when you’re playing and you need a grown-up to help you solve the disagreement?”

Lucas nodded.

“Well, sometimes when grown-ups have disagreements—especially when it’s a mommy and a daddy and they’re arguing about who gets to take care of their kids—then they go see a special judge who helps them solve the disagreement and makes sure that everything is fair.”

“But making me meet her _isn’t_ fair,” Lucas said.

“I don’t think it’s fair either,” Courfeyrac said, “but the judge might not agree with us.”

“Then don’t go to the judge,” Lucas said.

“It’s not that simple. Your mom wants to meet you so much that she insists we see a judge about this.”

Lucas frowned, his brow furrowing. “Is she gonna take me from you? Is she gonna make me live with her and not you?”

“No,” Courfeyrac said immediately. “No one is going to take you away from me, okay? You might have to meet your mom and you might have to go see her on weekends or something, but no one is going to take you from me ever, okay? I don’t want you to worry about that.”

He shoved aside his own personal worry about Charlotte’s claims that he wasn’t actually Lucas’s dad. That was his burden to bear, not Lucas’s. Hell, he wouldn’t even be telling Lucas this much except he didn’t want Lucas overhear him talking to a lawyer or anyone else about this and get worried.

“You promise?” Lucas said. His voice was meek and Courfeyrac gathered him close and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I promise,” he said. Even if it turned out Charlotte was telling the truth, Courfeyrac would fight for his little boy till his last breath.

* * *

 

It felt like Courfeyrac’s life was consumed by Charlotte—by her presence, by her refusal to answer the phone without a lawyer on the line, by her snippy emails. Even when she wasn’t around—and thankfully she didn’t seem to be around often—she was often the subject of conversation. Courfeyrac told his friends about what was going on. He told his boss in case Charlotte tried to show up at work. He told his parents because he needed help with legal bills since he’d been forced to hire a lawyer to slog through this whole mess.

And luckily everyone in his life was supportive—if not angry on his behalf. Courfeyrac thought his mom was going to throw her book through the window when he explained to her what was going on and Jehan had gone on a thirty-minute rant, which consisted of a lot of _how dare she_ and swearing.

As much as Courfeyrac appreciated the support of his friends and family—they kept him sane, they kept him from entertaining the worst case scenarios and they never tired of reassuring him that all of this would work out and that no one was going to take Lucas from him—he also hated how much people kept talking about Charlotte. Had he heard from her lately? How were the legal matters progressing? Had she shown up at Lucas’s school again? Was she still insisting that Courfeyrac wasn’t Lucas’s father? Was she still determined to take this to court? Was she still in town? How long was she going to be in town?

He had somehow been pulled back into her gravitational pull, and he hated it. He’d spent the better part of year obsessing about her when she’d left him and Lucas. Where was she and was she coming back? Did she have any regrets or had she moved on? Once he’d come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t coming back, he’d been able to move on with his life. He finished school and got a job. He took Lucas to daycare and parks and playdates and did his best to give him all the love of two parents even though one was no longer in the picture. And even when things got hard—impossibly hard like they had last year when Lucas first started having his seizures—Courfeyrac didn’t dwell on the fact that Charlotte wasn’t around.

Now it felt like she was impossible to avoid.

Combeferre, thankfully, seemed to understand that Courfeyrac didn’t want to deal with Charlotte all the time, and when they got together, he very carefully steered the conversation away from Charlotte and custody battles and paternity tests. And it was just as well because Courfeyrac had learned a long time ago that his romantic partners tended not to linger during hard times. The last thing he wanted was to be spending all his time complaining to Combeferre and inadvertently driving Combeferre away in the process.

Instead they talked about work and about Lucas and the upcoming holidays. Combeferre came over often these days, spending time with both Lucas and Courfeyrac at their home and happily entertaining Lucas when Courfeyrac took a much needed break.

And Lucas was always on his best behavior—in a way that unsettled Courfeyrac. Because Lucas was a good kid, generally speaking. Polite and considerate and friendly, but he was still a five year old. He was still loud and rambunctious. He still didn’t always share well and he made messes that he often denied making and he would protest that he wasn’t tired even when he could barely keep his eyes open. He was a kid. He acted like a kid.

But something was up. He was too eager to please these days and too fearful of making a mistake, however innocent. And it wasn’t just at home. He talked to Cosette about it and she noticed the same behavior change in the classroom that Courfeyrac saw at home. Lucas didn’t raise his hand as much during class, didn’t offer up answers—seemingly out of a fear of being wrong somehow. He was always on his extra best behavior, even when the rest of the class was being rowdy. He didn’t seem as engaged with his classmates.

When Combeferre was around, Lucas seemed to brighten a little. Courfeyrac joked that Combeferre must have that effect on all the men in his family.

Two days before winter break, Courfeyrac invited Combeferre and Enjolras over to have dinner and then work on organizing the fundraiser Les Amis was hosting for the women’s shelter Combeferre worked with **,** though so far, the night had been a bit of a wash. During dinner, Courfeyrac and Enjolras got more and more worked up as they discussed why opened public education to the free market was such a terrible idea and Lucas kept laughing at their antics even though Courfeyrac was sure the little boy had no idea what they were talking about. Poor Combeferre spent the whole meal trying to keep everyone from getting too loud.

After dinner, Courfeyrac shooed Combeferre and Enjolras off to the living room so he could give Lucas a bath and hopefully calm his son down a little before it was time for bed.

He was toweling dry Lucas’s hair while Lucas brushed his teeth and he could hear the sound of shuffling papers from the living room.

“Enjolras,” he heard Combeferre scold, “I don’t think Courf needs you looking through those.”

Enjolras must have found the files Courfeyrac’s lawyer had sent for him to look over.

“It can’t hurt to have a second opinion on stuff like this,” Enjolras said, “I might see something his lawyer might miss.”

“You don’t even practice family law,” Combeferre said.

“I don’t mind,” Courfeyrac said, coming back into the room with Lucas, who was freshly bathed and wearing his favorite Spider-man pajamas. “Someone wants Combeferre to read him a story before bed.”

Combeferre smiled up at him. “I didn’t realize you went to bed so early these days, Courf,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Nooo,” Lucas said. “I want you to read a story to me, not to Daddy!”

“Oh,” Combeferre said. “My mistake.” He levered himself off the couch and held out his hand to Lucas. “How about we go pick one out then?”

Lucas took his hand and eagerly pulled him down the hall to his bedroom. Courfeyrac looked after them with a fond smile.

“Ferre is pretty smitten with him, you know,” Enjolras said off-handedly. “Lucas drew a picture for him last week and Combeferre insisted on hanging it on our fridge.”

“He’s a pretty charming kid,” Courfeyrac said, flopping down onto the couch Combeferre had just vacated. He nodded his head towards the files Enjolras was looking over. “See anything interesting?”

“It looks like everything is in order as far as I can tell,” Enjolras said. “Your lawyer knows what she’s doing.”

“She’d better know what she’s doing,” Courfeyrac said. “My parents are footing the bill and they are very much of the opinion that the more expensive someone is, the better they are their job. I just always worry they’re getting swindled.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Not in this case. I don’t know much about family law, but from what I can tell, she’s doing great with what you’ve given her to work with.”

“With what I’ve given her to work with?” Courfeyrac asked. “That doesn’t sound promising. What have I done wrong this time?”

“Well, nothing,” Enjolras just said. “But I mean, obviously your case would be stronger if you’d filed abandonment charges when Lucas’s mother left in the first place. I mean, there wouldn’t even _be_ a case if you’d filed charges. Why didn’t you file charges?”

Courfeyrac sank back in the sofa. He’d been over this a dozen times with his parents and his lawyer. His dad had been particularly pissed off at him for not filing charges when Charlotte walked out on him and had yelled at him for a bit before his mom intervened. “I was twenty,” Courfeyrac said. “Barely twenty. I was still in college, managing a full class load on top of working part-time, and I had newborn to take care of. Filing any sort of charges really wasn’t on my mind at the time.”

Besides, at the time, he kept hoping that Charlotte would be coming back. And when he’d confessed that to his parents, both of them yelled at him for it.

As though he didn’t have enough to deal with right now.

“Fair enough,” Enjolras said. “It never occurred to you file charges after the fact though? I understand that you were probably pretty overwhelmed in the beginning, but after a couple of months—or even a year—and you hadn’t heard anything from her…?”

“It just never occurred to me,” he said honestly. “I had no idea where she was or even how to get a hold of her. I doubted she was working and my parents helped with the baby costs until I graduated—I didn’t need her for child support or anything like that.”

He made a mental note to ask his lawyer about that now though. If Charlotte was determined to get her hands on Lucas, the least she could do was pay for child support. From the looks of it, she and her husband were doing well for themselves. They could afford to help cover some of the medical bills if they were going to insist on being part of Lucas’s life.

Combeferre came out and announced that Lucas was ready for a lullaby and a kiss goodnight and Courfeyrac excused himself to finish Lucas’s bedtime routine—the same routine they’d been doing since Lucas was just a baby. With as tumultuous as the last year and a half had been, this bedtime routine—this little bit of consistency in an inconsistent life—gave them both something to hold onto.

Lucas was snuggled under his blankets, looking through the book he had read with Combeferre. Courfeyrac sat down next to him on the bed.

“How’re you doing, buddy?”

He liked checking in with Lucas before bedtime and giving his son room to talk about things that were bothering him or anything that had happened during the day. A lot of the time, Lucas told just him some long, winding anecdote about something that happened at school or recounted what had happened on the latest episode of his favorite TV shows, but on occasion he talked about how he didn’t like feeling different than the other kids at school or something mean someone had said to him and how mad he was about it.

Tonight, though, all Lucas had for him was smiles.

“I like it when Dr. Ferre reads me stories,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

Lucas nodded. “He even does voices for the different characters and he always reads me a second story if I ask for it.”

“That’s very considerate of him,” Courfeyrac said.

“Uh huh,” Lucas said. “And he said that the next time he comes over, he’s gonna bring some of _his_ favorite stories to share with me because he said that friends share their favorite things with each other.”

“Maybe I’ll have to find some of my old picture books over at Grandma’s house,” Courfeyrac said. “And then we can all share our favorite stories with each other.”

And it would be an easy way to add to Lucas’s rather limited selection of books—all of which Courfeyrac had read more times than he could count.

“I can help you look at Grandma’s house!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Courfeyrac said. “We go over tomorrow to take a look.”

Content that he had something to look forward to in the morning, Lucas set aside his book and snuggled deeper into his blankets. By the time Courfeyrac had finished singing Lucas a lullaby and placed a kiss on the crown of his head, Lucas was already half-asleep.

The second half of the evening was much more productive than first half had been. With Lucas asleep, they could easily focus on the matter at hand and they worked diligently until nearly midnight when Combeferre, with a wide yawn, suggested they call it a night.

After they had tidied up, Enjolras excused himself to the car—to get the heater going, he claimed—and Combeferre and Courfeyrac had a moment to themselves.

Half-asleep himself, Courfeyrac leaned into Combeferre.

“Maybe you should just stay,” he said. Combeferre was already bundled up in a coat and scarf and gloves and a hat—so sensible, his boyfriend was—but that just made him more cozy.

“And leave Enjolras out in the car?” Combeferre said. “I don’t think he’d like that.”

“We can tell him to leave,” Courfeyrac said. “He can go home and you can stay here where it’s warm and cozy.”

Combeferre laughed, his breath ruffling Courfeyrac’s hair. He pulled back just far enough to cup Courfeyrac’s face with one hand and place a slow, tender kiss on his lips. He tilted his forehead so that it pressed against Courfeyrac’s. “As warm and cozy as it is,” he said, “it’s better that I go.”

“Lies.”

“I can come by again tomorrow,” Combeferre said. “I can leave Enjolras at home and Lucas can go spend time with your mom and we can spend time in your room, where it’s warm and cozy.”

“I do like the way you think.”

He leaned in for another kiss.

“Are you going to be okay here on your own?” Combeferre asked when they pulled away.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Well, you’ll be lonely without me, of course,” Combeferre said.

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said solemnly.

“And, I don’t know, I guess I’m a little worried how you’re holding up with this whole Charlotte business,” he said. “We haven’t really talked about it since that night outside the Musain.”

“It’s fine,” he said automatically. “I mean, it’s not fine. This whole thing is a mess, but I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Combeferre watched him carefully. “I know I haven’t been the best about having hard conversations in the past,” he said, “but I want you to know that I’m always here if you need to talk about it.”

“Everyone wants to talk about it,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s nice to have someone who I don’t have to talk about it _with_ , you know?”

“I am happy to be your Charlotte-free safe harbor,” Combeferre said. “I just wanted to be sure that we weren’t talking about it because that’s what _you_ wanted and not because I’m bad at difficult conversations.”

“It’s fine,” Courfeyrac said, not willing to admit that there was a part of him who was reluctant to have these conversations with Combeferre for fear of driving him away. “You’re fine, I’m fine, we’re all fine.”

Combeferre smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

* * *

 

Lucas wasn’t sleeping well—which meant that Courfeyrac wasn’t sleeping well. Dealing with an over-tired five-year-old was hard enough on the best of days, but the lack of sleep had Courfeyrac on edge knowing how likely Lucas’s sleep deprivation could result in seizures rather than just a crabby child. By Christmas, they were still seizure free and Courfeyrac had issued a family-wide ban talking about his issues with Charlotte when there was even the slightest chance that Lucas could overhear them.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Lucas’s sleep and stress issues were tied to his uncertainty—and even fear—regarding the upcoming custody hearing with Chartlotte.

Over the winter break at school, Courfeyrac did his best to dote on Lucas. To lavish him with some much-needed attention and reassurance that nothing bad was going to happen, despite the fact that Courfeyrac was still nervous about the whole mess himself. A hearing in family court had been set for early in January, and Courfeyrac was on edge about it, hypersensitive to the fact that his whole world would crumble and collapse if he had an unsympathetic judge. But those were his fears. They didn’t need to be Lucas’s fears too.

A few days before New Year's Eve, Courfeyrac set up a playdate for Lucas with his friend Miranda from school, hoping that the playdate would serve as both a happy distraction and an excuse to get Lucas out of the house for a bit as he consulted with his parents and his lawyer. Miranda’s parents—all three of them—were delighted to take Lucas in for the afternoon.

Lucas was thrilled at the prospect and he chattered about how _cool_ Miranda and her family was while Courfeyrac drove him over to her house for the playdate. When Joly opened the door after they knocked, Lucas barely had time to say bye to Courfeyrac before Miranda whisked him away into the house, undoubtedly to show him whatever new and exciting toys she’d been given for Christmas.

“Do you want to come in?” Joly asked. “For coffee? Or pie? Bossuet made pie for Christmas, and I’m telling you, Courf, you have not had pie until you’ve had Bossuet’s pie.”

“Maybe another time,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting with the lawyer about the custody hearing—I’m probably going to be late as it is.”

Joly winced sympathetically. “How’s all of that going? I wanted to ask at the last Les Amis meeting, but everyone was talking about holiday plans and I didn’t want to be a buzzkill.”

“Which I appreciate,” Courfeyrac said and then he shrugged. “We’re waiting for the results of the paternity test to come back and just gathering evidence about how Charlotte abandoned him. Is it considered evidence in family court? I don’t even know. I just want this to all be over.”

“As do we all,” Joly said. “Stuff this shitty shouldn’t happen to people as good as you and Lucas. Hopefully in a couple of weeks, this will all have blown over and things can get back to normal for you. Any judge with half a brain is going to award you primary custody. With Lucas’s health issues—they’re not going to take a sick kid from a stable environment.”

“Well, with the way things are going now,” Courfeyrac said in a low voice, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we get a judge who only has a few neurons to rub together. I’d consider myself lucky to get one with half a brain.”

Joly gave him a sympathetic smile. “Well, keep your chin up,” he said. “And please let us know if you need anything at all. We’re happy to watch Lucas for you when you need to meet with your lawyer or take care of anything regarding this mess.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking,” Joly said sternly. “We’re offering. Honestly, taking care of four kids isn’t that much different than taking care of three—goodness knows our oldest brings her friends around often enough for us to have learned that—and you can rest easy knowing that I’m a trained medical professional so if anything should happen to Lucas while he’s here—heaven forbid—I know how to handle the situation.”

“What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“We don’t have to do good things to deserve good people in our lives,” Joly chided. “And even if I didn’t adore you and Lucas, I’d help you because of what you mean to Combeferre. He and I have been friends since he was in med school and I have never seen him as happy as he is with you. Your happiness is his happiness, and I’m going to do what I can to fight for that.”

Courfeyrac chuckled a little. “I didn’t realize anyone else was invested in mine and Ferre’s relationship.”

“Oh, we are totally Team Combeferre and Courfeyrac in this house,” he said. “Bossuet’s been trying to come up with a portmanteau of your name. The silly man thinks that your couple name should be Combefeyrac.”

“That is _awful_ ,” Courfeyrac said.

“That’s what Musichetta told him,” he said. “Then again, she tried to portmanteau your first names and came up with Hugrian, so she doesn’t have the best sense when it comes to this either.”

Courfeyrac laughed so hard his eyes watered and when he composed himself, he thanked Joly for the laugh—he certainly needed it.

When Courfeyrac got home, he saw the lawyer’s car already parked out front. He must have stayed longer at Joly’s than he anticipated. He parked his car in the driveway near the pool house and then went in search of his parents and the lawyer in the main house. They were waiting for him in the dining room, stacks and files of papers already spread out over the table. There was tea service perched at one end of the table and Courfeyrac helped himself to a shortbread cookie before taking a seat at the table.

“Sorry for running late,” he said. “I got held up while dropping Lucas off.”

His dad gave him a look that suggested that time was money—and he didn’t appreciate having his money wasted.

“It’s all right,” Lara the lawyer said. “We were only just getting started.”

She walked him through the work that had been done since they last met. They were still waiting for the results of the paternity test—though Lara and Courfeyrac’s parents were convinced beyond any doubt that the test would come out in his favor—but Lara explained that they had a good case even if he wasn’t Lucas’s biological father. He was the only parent Lucas had ever known, after all, and his name was on the birth certificate to boot.

Courfeyrac’s dad asked about abandonment charges—the first time anyone brought up the subject since Courfeyrac admitted to his parents that he never filed charges to begin with.

“We can’t file now,” Lara explained, “because the mother is expressing interest in the child again. I think it’s as much bullshit as the rest of you do, but filing charges now would make _us_ look bad—and we want to avoid that as much as we can. Our angle is doing what’s right for Lucas, so we don’t want to make it look like we’re trying to punish the mother at all. That said, she’s doing plenty to make herself look bad. That whole thing where she tried to pick him up from school? She’s got to be kicking herself for that now. And even then, she’s had five years where she could have tried to make contact and she didn’t. She’s going to have all sorts of excuses for that—she wasn’t ready to be a parent, she was trying to get her life together, whatever—but five years with no contact is _plenty_ to at least charge her with neglect.”

They talked more about how the hearing would probably proceed, and Lara talked over what she thought were likely outcomes. She was gunning to have sole custody awarded to Courfeyrac with a complete termination of Charlotte’s parental rights, but she explained that it was more likely to be some sort of middle ground solution—most likely supervised visitation every other weekend or something along those lines. She warned Courfeyrac that he would _have_ to comply with court-ordered visitation.

“It’s not a choice at that point,” she explained. “And if you violate that, you’re going to be in trouble, not Charlotte. If you can convince her to drop the case, to settle this outside of court, that’ll provide you with more flexibility.”

“That won’t happen,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m pretty sure she’s out for blood now.”

Lara nodded. “Then we’ll do what we can to make sure this whole shit show ends in your favor.”

As Courfeyrac’s mom asked if they’d be able to appeal visitation orders down the line if they wanted to, Courfeyrac’s phone started buzzing and shuffling across the table. At the _you’re being rude_ look his father gave him, he reached out to silence the call but then froze.

Joly was calling.

“I need to take this,” he said, snatching up his phone. “It’s Lucas’s friend’s dad—just let me make sure everything is okay.”

When he answered the phone, he knew everything was not okay.

He knew that the moment he heard sirens in the background.

 “Joly?” he croaked.

“Don’t panic,” were the first words out of Joly’s mouth and Courfeyrac had never heard such bullshit before because there were _sirens_ in the background. He was damn well going to panic. “Lucas is going to be fine.”

“Is going to be?” He turned his back to his parents, unable to stand the way his mother watched him. “What the hell happened?”

“He had a seizure,” Joly said. “A long one—over five minutes—and he hasn’t woken up since. We called the paramedics and I’m in the ambulance with him now. We’ll be at the hospital shortly. Meet us there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I didn't update at the end of July like I promised, but I got my act together to post at the end of August! Thank you all so very very much for your patience and your support. I'm in the middle of ~life changes and it's been hard to find time to work on this. BUT things have settled a little and I am reallyreally hoping to finish this fic up in a very timely manner. I won't make any promises, but I think I'll be able to stick to posting a chapter every two weeks until this is done? That's the plan anyway.
> 
> (If you're curious, more info about the Real Life that has been causing all these delays can be found [here](http://kingesstropolis.tumblr.com/post/147820355428/yhim-update-a-delay-and-an-explanation))
> 
> In the mean time, thank you again for your continued support and feel free to stop by and say hi on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)!


	17. Chapter 17

Courfeyrac’s hands were shaking so bad that his mother insisted that she drive him to the hospital. When he had argued, she said she wouldn’t have himself getting in an accident because he was being stubborn. As she drove, she made him repeat every scant detail he had from Joly about what had happened. He didn’t know if she did this to keep herself informed or to keep him talking so he wouldn’t panic more than he already was.

As soon as they pulled in front of the hospital, Courfeyrac was out of the car and through the emergency room doors. He rushed to the front desk.

“My son,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “My son had a seizure—he was brought in in an ambulance. I need to see him. I need to see my son.”

The woman at the desk—her nametag said her name was Bethany—gave him a sympathetic look. “What’s his name?”

“Lucas Courfeyrac,” he said.

She blinked at him. “Could you spell that for me?”

By the time he had finished spelling out his name, his mother had joined him at the desk—just in time to hear Bethany say, “Lucas was just checked in about five minutes ago. The doctor is with him right now, but I’m afraid you can’t see him yet.”

“No,” Courfeyrac said. “No, you don’t understand. He’s my son. He’s only five. And he has a seizure disorder—I need to be there.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Bethany said. “I can send someone to check if the doctor will let you back, but it’s policy—”

Courfeyrac slammed his hand down on the desktop. “No,” he said, his voice starting to tremble. “I need to see him. I need—”

“Hugo,” his mother said gently. She took him by the elbow and steered him away from the desk. “We have to wait. It’ll be okay.”

“No, it’s not okay,” he snapped. “Lucas needs me—he’s back there all alone with doctors he doesn’t know. I need to be there.”

“Your friend said Lucas was unconscious still,” she said. Her voice was so gentle, like she knew how badly her words hurt him. “He doesn’t even know that you’re not there, sweetheart. You just need to be patient.”

“Mom, I can’t—”

“I know,” she said. She tugged him over to the plastic chairs in the waiting area and pulled him down to sit next to her. As soon as they were sitting, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, encouraging him to lean into her. He rested his head on her shoulder—something he hadn’t done since he was a boy—and she stroked his hair. “Everything will work out. We just need to be patient.”

Time crept by and Courfeyrac felt every second like it was a cut on his soul. He kept his eyes focused on the clock mounted on the wall, counting every second so that his mind wouldn’t wander down dangerous roads. When someone moved between him and the clock, it took him a long moment to recognize who it was.

“Ferre?” he said sitting upright and not quite believing his eyes.

Combeferre crouched down in front of him. “How’s Lucas?”

“He’s with the doctor,” Courfeyrac said. “They won’t let me see him. How did you—why are you here?”

“Joly called me,” he said. He grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand. “He thought I’d want to be here.”

“They won’t let me see him,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s been ages.” He looked at the clock again. “It’s been ten minutes but it’s felt like ages.”

Combeferre nodded. “Let me see if I can at least find something out for you,” he said. “I did my residency here, so I still know most of the staff and, well,” he shrugged, “I am Lucas’s pediatrician and that counts for something. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Courfeyrac nodded and Combeferre hurried off to talk to Bethany at the front desk. A moment later, Combeferre was buzzed back into the ER. He gave Courfeyrac a fleeting smile as he went in.

After Combeferre had been gone for a few minutes, Jeanine said, “Hugo?”

Courfeyrac tore his gaze away from the ER doors to look at her. “Yeah?”

“What did Adrien mean about being Lucas’s pediatrician?”

Shit. Just what he needed. He let out a slow breath. “Well,” he said, “he meant that he’s Lucas’s general care provider. He was the doctor that our neurologist back in Rochester recommended to us.”

“You’re dating your doctor?” she hissed.

“No,” he said. “I’m dating _Lucas’s_ doctor. I’m not his patient.”

“Still, Hugo, can’t you see—”

“Mom, do we really have to get into this now?” he asked.

She pressed her lips into a tight line. “No, I suppose not, but Hugo—”

“Mom, there’s nothing you can possibly say about this that Combeferre and I haven’t talked about in extreme detail, so can we just please not do this right now?”

She sighed and Courfeyrac doubted she was going to let the subject for long, but she didn’t press him now.

He kept his eyes glued on the ER doors. It was easier than watching the seconds trudge by while watching the clock. At least with his eyes on the door, he could pretend that time wasn’t moving as slowly as he was certain it was. And he would know the _instant_ Combeferre was back with news.

Good news, he told himself. It would be good news. Lucas would be fine. Lucas had to be fine.

He hadn’t felt this scared since Lucas’s first seizure, since the first time he watched his little boy jerk and then drop to the ground in what looked like a dead faint. A myolonic-astatic seizure, a doctor had explained to Courfeyrac later, which had been the first time Courfeyrac had even realized that a seizure could be anything more than the convulsing that was always depicted in the media. Lucas had chipped a tooth when he had fallen and had talked with a slight whistle until he lost that same tooth just a few months ago.

His mom gently rubbed his back as they waited, and Courfeyrac tried to focus on the ER door, focus on Combeferre who would come out any second and assure him that everything was okay.

He didn’t even know what sort of seizure Lucas had _had_. Drop attacks usually didn’t last that long, which was really their only redeeming quality, but Joly said this one had been over five minutes.

Who knew what sort of damage had been done in that time?

No. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t open himself to that sort of fear. It would destroy him.

Lucas would be fine. He had to be fine.

That was his mantra, his lifeline, and he clung to it until someone called his name, shattering his concentration.

Charlotte stood just inside the entrance to the hospital.

The shock of seeing Charlotte right here, right now, when his little boy was somewhere in this hospital without him, was enough to jolt Courfeyrac from fear to anger. He was on his feet before he realized it.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Where’s Lucas?” she demanded.

“How the fuck did you even find out that we were here? Are you _spying_ on us?”

“Where is he? Where’s my son? Why aren’t you with him?” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“He’s not your son,” he said through gritted teeth.

“He’s not _your_ son,” she shot back.

“Like hell he’s not! I’ve been with him every day of his life. Where the hell have you been?”

“Oh get over yourself,” she snapped. “It’s not like you even wanted him in the first place.”

“Bullshit.”

“You wanted me to get a fucking abortion!”

“I said I’d help you pay for one if that’s what you wanted! But I also fucking told you I wanted that baby and that I’d help you pay for prenatal care and whatever the hell else you needed—which, in case you’ve forgotten, I _did_!”

“Oh yeah, you helped pay for my hospital bills—I’m the one who actually had to give birth!”

“And then you _left_ ,” Courfeyrac said. “You don’t get to play the fucking mother card when you left when he wasn’t even six weeks old! I’m the one who stayed, Chartlotte! I’ve got the fucking trump card here!”

“Sir, ma’am,” Bethany the check-in nurse said, hovering nearby. “This is a hospital. You need to keep your voices down.”

“Screw you,” Charlotte said. “I want to see my son.”

“He’s not your son!”

“I’m not going to tell you again,” the Bethany said. “I will call security if—” The rest of her warning was cut off then the doors to the ER swung open and Combeferre strode out.

His steps faltered just a little when he spotted Charlotte squared off against Courfeyrac, and for a moment he looked angry but then he squared his shoulders and kept walking, his eyes trained on Courfeyrac and no one else.

“What’s he doing here?” Charlotte asked.

Combeferre didn’t even look at her, his attention focused on Courfeyrac. “I saw Lucas,” he said in a low voice at Courfeyrac’s side. “He’s awake now and asking for you. He’s upset, but so far, he seems okay.”

All the tension in Courfeyrac’s body left him in a rush and he reached out to Combeferre to keep him stable.

“Can I see him?” Courfeyrac asked.

At the same time, Charlotte said to Combeferre, “How come you got to see Lucas?”

“Dr. Combeferre is the boy’s doctor,” Bethany said and Charlotte’s eyes narrowed.

Combeferre continued to ignore her. He moved his hand to Courfeyrac’s elbow and began to steer him toward the ER doors. “They want to do an EEG and a couple of other cognitive tests,” he said, “but they said I could bring you back. Lucas is anxious to see you.”

Courfeyrac nodded, not quite able to string words together. His heart still beat loudly in his chest and his bones still felt wobbly.

The click of high heels followed them.

“If Courf gets to see Lucas,” Charlotte said, “then so do I!”

Combeferre’s neutral expression fractured, his face twisting into fury and he started to turn around—Courfeyrac had no idea what Combeferre would say, but he knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant—but Jeanine spoke first.

“Charlotte, that is enough,” she said. Her voice was cool and clipped and Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks because he had heard that exact tone of voice more than once during his childhood and nothing good had ever come of it. This was the first time, though, that he’d heard it directed towards someone other than him or his siblings. “You are making a fool of yourself. Whatever claim you have to Lucas, you gave it up long ago. If you want to know how the boy is, you can sit here quietly and wait and either Hugo or I will let you know how he’s doing, but you _will not_ continue to pester and harass my son because you see him as an outlet for your own guilt and shame. And if you cannot remain civil, I will not hesitate to call security myself and have you kicked out. This is a place of healing—there’s no room for your petty squabbling.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Charlotte had her lips pressed together in a thin line, then she turned on heel and walked right out the door.

Combeferre tugged a little on Courfeyrac’s arm. “Come on, now,” he said. “Lucas is waiting for you.”

Lucas was huddled on the bed in the third exam room down the hall. They had already dressed him in a child-sized hospital gown—this one had brightly colored dogs on it—and he had his arms wrapped around his knees and a sullen pout on his face. A large bruise was taking shape on one side of his face. He must have hit his head during the seizure. Courfeyrac could tell in an instant that Lucas was trying very hard not to cry.

“Daddy!” he cried out when he spotted Courfeyrac and Courfeyrac was at his son’s side in an instant, gathering the little boy into his arms. Lucas pressed his face into Courfeyrac’s shoulder and Courfeyrac rubbed his cheek against his son’s hair.

Nearby, the ER doctor was speaking to him—explaining what had happened and what they wanted to do next and using the medical terminology that Courfeyrac had only become fluent in in the last year—and Courfeyrac made a mental note to get these details again later, but for now, all he wanted—all he needed—was to hold Lucas tight in his arms and never let him go.

* * *

 

When Courfeyrac brought Lucas home from the hospital, the world felt fragile. Lucas had passed all the neurological and cognitive tests they’d administered at the hospital and as far as everyone could tell, no lasting damage had been done.

But Courfeyrac was still under orders to watch Lucas carefully the next few days—to check on him during the night, to monitor his eating habits, to make sure he was taking his medication. And it felt like the world was going to crumble under his feet at any moment.

Combeferre gave him a ride home and stayed with him that first night.

It was the first time one of them had ever stayed the night at the other’s home, but it wasn’t the romantic evening that Courfeyrac imagined it would be. Combeferre was there as half-doctor, half-boyfriend, and he watched protectively over both Courfeyrac and Lucas—making sure they both ate, they both slept. That they were both taken care of.

When Courfeyrac finally unwound enough that he was able to go to bed himself, instead of hovering near Lucas’s door and checking on his son every few minutes, Combeferre held him in his arms until he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up alone in the morning, feeling like he’d only managed a handful of minutes of sleep instead of the five hours he actually got, he stumbled out of his room to check on Lucas.

Still breathing. Still sleeping.

He was still leaning against the door frame to Lucas’s room when Combeferre came up to him and pressed a cup of coffee in his hands. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. A doctor’s sort of tone.

Courfeyrac just shrugged.

“I woke up Lucas so he could take his morning dose of medication at the normal time,” Combeferre said. “I hope you don’t mind that I did that—”

“I trust you,” Courfeyrac said.

“He was a little confused why I was here when I woke him up, but other than that, he seemed fine—just a little tired,” Combeferre said. “He went right back to sleep afterwards. Have you—does Lucas know about the two of us?”

“He knows you’re a friend,” Courfeyrac said. “But I haven’t explained that you’re a special friend yet. I was going to, but then everything with Charlotte…”

“It’s fine,” Combeferre said. He took Courfeyrac by the elbow and gently steered him away from the door. “I was just curious about how much he knew.”

Combeferre steered him to the kitchen and sat him down at the table, where a full breakfast was laid out for them both.

“What time did you get up to do all this?” Courfeyrac asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

“I’ve always been an early riser,” he said. “And I thought that perhaps you could use a little break today. This is the least I could do.”

“I can’t take a break. Lucas—”

“Lucas needs you right now,” Combeferre said. “I won’t pretend that’s not the case. But I think he needs your emotional support right now more than anything. Let me focus on the cooking and cleaning for you for a bit so you can focus on Lucas.”

Courfeyrac leaned forward, his elbows braced against the table and the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes, trying desperately to fight back the tears that burned his eyes.

“Courf…?” Combeferre’s voice was concerned.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m just not used to having someone take care of me, you know? It’s usually just me and Lucas against the world and Lucas is just a kid so of course I end up doing all the work and it’s just been so long since I’ve had someone to help me shoulder the load.”

“You have me for as long as you need me,” Combeferre said. “If you want me to stay for a couple of days, I can do that. I’d just have to get some stuff from my place.”

Courfeyrac looked up at him. “You would do that?” he asked.

Combeferre sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m here for whatever you need from me before you believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Courfeyrac said. “It’s just that…”

“It’s just that you don’t trust me?”

“No, it’s that I don’t trust anyone,” he said, reaching to Combeferre and tugging him closer. Courfeyrac felt it was always easier to have difficult conversations when you were snuggled up against the other person. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t used to having someone around to help out.”

“It’s one thing to not be used to it,” Combeferre said. “It’s another to look completely shocked when your boyfriend offers to help you out. It makes me feel like you don’t feel you can rely on me.”

“I know I can rely on you,” he said. “I do, I know it. It’s just—knowing isn’t enough, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

Courfeyrac rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m saying this all wrong,” he said. He took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. “You’re not the first person I’ve dated since Charlotte left. There’ve been a few others, and everyone always said they understood about Lucas—even before he was sick. They said they understood that Lucas had to come first, that he was just a little boy and obviously my first priority had to be him. And they all said that they would help out when they could and for a while, they would, but then after a few weeks? Not so much.”

“I’m not—”

“I know you’re not like that,” Courfeyrac said. “I _know_ that. You’ve already been better than any of them—like loads better. But I’ve gotten used to being let down. I’d be depending on them to take care of one thing or another and it was like they just decided it was too much work and without any warning, I’d be all on my own again—left to shoulder all the work myself. After a while, you just get used to doing it all on your own even when people say they’re going to help out because it’s just easier that way.

“So every time you tell me and reassure me that you’re here, that I can depend on you, a part of me is always waiting to be let down. A part of me is always waiting for you to get sick of this—of me, of Lucas, of all my drama. It’s not fair to you, I know that, and I’m _trying_ to not hold you to the same broken standard I hold everyone else, but this isn’t baggage I can easily unlearn, you know?”

Combeferre nodded, his expression studious like he was trying to puzzle something out. Courfeyrac had half-expected this confession to scare him off.

“I wish you would have explained this earlier,” he said. “I mean, it was probably obvious to everyone else that this would be something you struggle with, but I’m not the best with emotional subtext. I’ve just been worried that I’ve been letting you down all along and that’s why you always look so surprised when I offer to help.”

“No, no,” Courfeyrac said quickly. “That’s not it _at all_.”

“Good,” Combeferre. “Because I don’t want to let you down, even accidentally. We’re in this together—drama or no—and I want you to be able to rely on me.”

“I’m working on it,” Courfeyrac said, then he turned his attention to the breakfast laid out in front of them. “And if you keep making breakfast like this for me, I bet I can get over my myriad of issues pretty quick.”

The sound of Combeferre’s laughter filled the kitchen and chased away a few more of Courfeyrac's fears.

* * *

 

It was after midnight on New Year’s Eve and it was the first time all night that Combeferre had a moment to himself. He closed the door to his childhood bedroom behind him and locked it.

Why had he let his parents talk him into coming home for New Year’s?

They had made a big deal of it when he’d been home for Christmas—they were having a big party. Lots of family and old friends. It would mean a lot if he were there, since he so rarely came to big family functions anymore.

He’d been tempted to argue at that point. The reason he didn’t come to big family functions anymore was because his parents refused to tell anyone else in the family that he was gay and kept interrupting him every time he tried to tell them himself. He was in his thirties—he didn’t have the time or patience to play these kinds of games. It wasn’t worth his while to come to family events if he had to constantly censor himself when he was around family.

But his mother had been insistent and he could tell how it bothered her that he’d been avoiding the family for so long. So in typical fashion, instead of summoning the courage and the nerve to explain to his parents why he didn’t want to come, he just agreed to it.

Surely a weekend with them for New Year’s couldn’t go so terribly wrong, could it?

Only it had gone all wrong. So very, very wrong.

Pressing his back against the door, he fished his phone out of his pocket and called Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac picked up on the second ring. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “I was hoping you’d call. I’ve missed you.”

This was their first night apart since Lucas’s seizure. Combeferre had practically moved in for a few days and he loved how well his life fit in with Courfeyrac’s and Lucas’s. Staying at Courfeyrac’s was building a sort of intimacy between them that hadn’t existed before. He loved being around to help with whatever was needed—taking the lead on the cooking and cleaning so Courfeyrac could focus on his son. He loved being able to lift some of that burden for Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac went through his days delicately, like one misspoken word would send his whole world out of balance, and Lucas swung between tearful clingyness and stubborn defiance, trying to seek comfort and take control all at once, and Combeferre was there to keep everything running, to bring balance and stability and predictability to Courfeyrac and Lucas both.

He had almost cancelled on his parents because he’d been reluctant to leave Courfeyrac, but Courf assured him that he’d be fine.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” he said. “How was your night? Did you let Lucas stay up?”

Courfeyrac snorted. “I had my mom turn all the clocks in her house ahead by three hours and played that King Julien New Year’s Eve countdown on Netflix at nine and then tucked him into bed in my old room and rang in the new year with my parents three hours later. I really hope that he doesn’t catch on to that trick for another couple of years. How about you? How was your family thing?”

He hesitated a moment too long.

“Ferre?” Courfeyrac asked. “Did something happen?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” he said.

“You sound upset,” Courfeyrac said. “Tell me what happened before I imagine the worst.”

“My parents tried to set me up with someone,” he said.

“I thought your parents avoided the subject of your love life.”

“Yeah, they tried to set me up with a woman.”

“Shit.”

“Right?” he said. “And I was so stupid—I didn’t even realize what they were trying to do until an hour ago. The whole night they kept pushing me towards this woman—and she was a lovely woman. Her name was Anisha, she’s a molecular and developmental biologist. Really classy and intelligent woman, who did absolutely nothing in life to have my parents try to set her up with a gay man.”

“So what happened?”

Combeferre rubbed his hand over his face and pushed away from the bedroom door so he could flop down on the bed. “I spent the night chatting with her, not realizing that she thought we were on some sort of date, and when I finally figured out what was happening, I _tried_ to politely and discreetly explain to her what the hell was going on, but then my dad caught wind of it and caused a fucking scene and now everyone knows I’m gay.”

“I am so sorry,” Courfeyrac said. “That was real shitty of them to put you in that position in the first place.”

“I don’t care that everyone knows I’m gay,” Combeferre said. “I’ve been out publicly for over a decade. It’s not a big deal that twenty-odd other people know. But I hate that my dad forced it to be this big scene and I hate that you got dragged into it.”

“I got dragged into it?” Far from sounding bothered by the fact, Courfeyrac almost sounded excited at the prospect. “How did that happen?”

“I mentioned that I was seeing someone already and then we ended up shouting about you for ten minutes.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Oh man, now I’m sad I missed it! I can’t hardly imagine you shouting about anything.”

“I’m glad you’re amused by this.”

“Oh, Ferre, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart that you were dragged into this uncomfortable and unpleasant situation. That said, I’ve got this mental image of you shouting at your dad about how much you love me and it’s very flattering.”

“I hope you still feel that way next week.”

“Why?” Courfeyrac asked. “What’s next week?”

“Now that my parents know I’m dating you, my mother wants to meet you. She insists that all three of us go out for coffee or something.”

“Just tell me when,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m sure my mom will watch Lucas for me.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Courfeyrac said. “I know your parents haven’t been that supportive of you in the past—at least not supportive of this part of your life—but if your mom wants to meet me, then maybe she’s starting to come around on all of this. And if she is, I want to do what I can to help. I don’t know if you knew this, but parents _love_ me.”

“You’re kind of perfect, did you know that?”

“Says the man who practically moved in to take care of me while I took care of my son.”

“That was nothing,” Combeferre said.

“That was _everything_. Keeping my life together after a scare like that…that’s not easy for me. And I imagine letting your mom into this part of your life after keeping her out for so long isn’t easy for you, but I’m going to be there for you like you were for me. That, my dear Combeferre, is why we make such a good team.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Another chapter so soon? I hope it was the same quality as the stuff I spend more time on, but I am currently working very hard to get this finished soon! There should be two more chapters and an epilogue after this :]
> 
> Anyway, thank you always for all your comments and kudos and tumblr messages. My life is a bit crazy at the moment, so I don't have the time or energy to respond individually, but all the comments and messages help motivate me to get this finished! The next chapter should be up in two weeks, and until then you can find me on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)!


	18. Chapter 18

Combeferre accepted his coffee from the barista and scanned the cafe for a place to sit. He was supposed to meet Courfeyrac here later in the evening—Courf had a meeting with his lawyer and Charlotte and her lawyer—but Combeferre had finished some volunteer work at the women’s shelter with Eponine earlier than he anticipated and didn’t want to go home only to have to come back out. He had a book with him and would be perfectly content to sit and read and sip at his coffee while he waited for Courfeyrac to get done with his meeting.

Hopefully, the meeting would go well and Courfeyrac would have good news.

They were still waiting on the results of the paternity test that Courfeyrac had sent in. Despite Combeferre’s many reassurances that these tests routinely took six or more weeks to process, he could tell that Courfeyrac was getting anxious about not knowing one way or the other. Combeferre was still certain that this was all a ploy from Courfeyrac’s ex. The resemblance between Courfeyrac and Lucas was uncanny. Courfeyrac’s mother had even shown Combeferre pictures of Courfeyrac as a young child the last time he’d been over at Courfeyrac’s and Lucas was the spitting image of him at that age. Unless Charlotte had slept with Courfeyrac’s long lost twin, the odds that Lucas would look that much like Courfeyrac and not be related were impossible. Combeferre could only think that by playing this card, Charlotte was hoping that Courfeyrac would be too scared to find out that his child wasn’t his and would just cooperate with her instead of taking this to court.

Which wasn’t the most compassionate view of the woman, but Combeferre didn’t really feel any lost love for her. She was probably a decent enough woman—he liked to believe that Courfeyrac had good taste in partners—but her behavior now was beyond unacceptable.

Combeferre just wanted this whole mess to be finished quickly—for both Courfeyrac’s and Lucas’s sake. The custody hearing was only a week away now and the stress was clearly effecting Courfeyrac, who looked perpetually tired. At the end of long days of teaching and parenting and handling matters for the hearing, Courfeyrac would often collapse on the couch after putting Lucas to bed and just stare blankly at the wall for ten minutes before he could muster the energy to pay attention to Combeferre.

Lucas, at least, was doing well—school had stared back up and while everyone was keeping a close eye on the little boy, he had yet to have another seizure. They had raised the dosage of Lucas’s medication just a little, hoping that it would prevent any more of these break-through seizures, but Combeferre felt pretty certain that Lucas would be better off once he no longer had to deal with the stress of worrying if he was going to be taken from the only parent he’d ever known. Stress was the likeliest culprit behind this seizure.

He knew his concern for Lucas was not exactly professional. It bordered almost on parental, which was the exact sort of thing he’d been hoping to avoid. He was still trying to track down a colleague who he’d trust Lucas with, but it was slow work—especially around the holidays. People were traveling or working fewer hours to be home with their loved ones. But he knew he had to find a new doctor for Lucas, and he had to do it soon. Every day, they risked getting caught in this whole mess and Combeferre worried that if he grew any closer to Courfeyrac and Lucas, he’d lose all ability to view Lucas with the rational professionalism he viewed his other patients with. It had nearly broken his heart to see Lucas at the hospital after his seizure—and that wasn’t a feeling he was supposed to have.

Someone pulled out a chair at Combeferre’s table, breaking him out of his reverie.

“I was hoping you’d be here early,” Courfeyrac said, plopping himself down in the chair across from Combeferre. His smile was wide and he was practically radiating. Combeferre hadn’t seen him look this happy in ages.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you had that meeting—”

“We’re having the meeting here,” Courfeyrac said. He gestured across the cafe to where his lawyer sat at table for four. She was going through a folder of notes. “Neutral ground and all that. But I wanted to show you this.” He thrust an envelope across the table.

Combeferre took the letter out of the envelope. Across from him, Courfeyrac was nearly shaking with excitement.

The letter wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, and the top half was a chart of numbers. His eyes were drawn to the first real paragraph, written under the heading “Conclusion.”

_The alleged father, Hugo Courfeyrac, cannot be excluded as the biological father of Lucas Michael Courfeyrac. Based on the genetic testing results, the probability of paternity is 99.99% when compared to an untested random man of the North American population. At least 99.99% of the North American population is excluded from the possibility of being the biological father of the child._

Courfeyrac was still grinning when Combeferre looked up from the letter.

“Ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent,” he said. “Ferre, that’s the best possible result to get out of these tests! I don’t know how they work, why they can’t say for sure that I am Lucas’s dad, but Lara—my lawyer, you know—she said that this is good enough for the court. I’m Lucas’s dad!”

“I told you,” Combeferre said smugly, carefully tucking the letter back inside the envelope, knowing that it would be needed for the court proceedings.

“Yeah, yeah, you told me,” he said, “but now we know for sure. Charlotte’s going to be _furious_. I can’t wait to tell her!”

“I’m surprised she let you go through with the test,” Combeferre said. “She must have known what it would say.”

“That’s what I thought,” Courfeyrac said. “Lara said that she was sure Charlotte was hoping that I’d be too afraid to find out one way or the other—my dad had the gall to agree with that assessment and essentially called me a soft-hearted coward, by the way—but my mom suggested that maybe Charlotte _did_ cheat on me back then and there could have been a chance that Lucas wasn’t really my son. I’m starting to think she’s probably right about that.”

“Do you think Charlotte will drop all of this now?”

“That’s the hope,” Courfeyrac said. “I just want to not have to deal with this anymore.”

For a moment, Courfeyrac’s elation waned and the exhaustion that had plagued him for weeks was evident in the lines of his face and the bags under his eyes.

On the other side of the cafe, the bell above the main entrance jingled as Charlotte, her husband, and their lawyer—a severe looking man in a dark suit—stepped in. Courfeyrac took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before leaning across the table and pressing a kiss to Combeferre’s lips.

“That’s my cue,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Hopefully this won’t take long.”

Combeferre watched Courfeyrac take a seat at the other table, his back to Combeferre. They’d had to pull up an extra chair for Charlotte’s husband, and the three of them were squished together on one side of the table. Their lawyer opened his briefcase on the table and spread out a few documents in front of them. Combeferre supposed it was rude to watch the meeting progress, but it was hard to take his eyes away. He was too invested in this whole charade.

He could tell the exact moment when Courfeyrac shared the results of the paternity test, because Charlotte’s face immediately soured and her husband reached across the table to snatch the letter from Courfeyrac’s hands. Combeferre couldn’t see Courfeyrac’s face, but from the way Courfeyrac had leaned back in his chair, Combeferre imagined he looked smug.

The meeting lasted another half-hour and Combeferre watched all of it. At the end of the meeting, there was a lot of paper shuffling and hand-shaking, but then Courfeyrac excused himself and headed back to Combeferre. He was still grinning from ear to ear.

He still looked elated—happier than he had since Thanksgiving—though now his expression contained trace amounts of resignation.

“How’d it go?” Combeferre asked.

“We’re still going to the hearing,” Courferyac said, which explained the resignation in his expression. “Charlotte insisted, but from the way the lawyers were talking, it looks like I’m guaranteed primary custody. Charlotte will be lucky to get visitation at this point. Lying about paternity doesn’t look too good for her.”

“That’s great!”

Courfeyrac nodded. “I have to go call my parents—I promised I’d tell them how this meeting went—but afterwards, we need to celebrate. I don’t care what we do—we can stay here or go out for something, whatever, but it has to be fun. I can’t even remember when I last had proper fun.”

“Anything you want,” Combeferre said. “My treat.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” Courfeyrac said. He stood and kissed Combeferre’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a few,” he said, waving his phone at Combeferre.

Courfeyrac hadn’t been gone for more than a minute when Charlotte sat down in the empty chair across from Combeferre, her lips pursed.

“Can I help you?” Combeferre asked. He didn’t want to deal with her right now, and he especially wanted her gone before Courfeyrac came back. He didn’t want her ruining Courfeyrac’s good mood.

“I suppose Courf already told you the…good news.”

“I have a hard time believing that you’re at all surprised by the results of that test,” Combeferre said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I don’t see why you’re all so snippy with me,” she said. “I admit that I made a mistake walking out when I did, but I’m trying to make up for it now.”

“Five years is a long time to go without trying to rectify that kind of mistake,” he said. “What do you want from me?”

“It’s Dr. Combeferre, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s what they were calling you at the hospital.”

“What of it?”

“Doesn’t it seem a little…unethical for you to be dating your patient’s father?” she asked.

Combeferre kept his expression neutral but his stomach twisted. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re Lucas’s pediatrician, aren’t you? That’s why you were at the hospital? And when we met, Courf introduced you as his boyfriend,” she said. “I just don’t see how you can offer impartial treatment to a child when you’re emotionally involved. Aren’t there rules about that sort of thing?”

This was the very thing he’d been worried about, but never in a hundred years had he imagined that it would be _Charlotte_ who found them out. But Combeferre didn’t let that fear show on his face. Years of doing activist work with Enjolras had taught Combeferre how to stay on message—how to stay focused on what he wanted to say without letting an adversarial reporter or counter-protestor trick him into saying something he’d regret. He summoned those skills now. He could make this about her actions instead of his own.

“I think if you were really concerned about Lucas’s well-being, you would have reached out to Courfeyrac before now. Courfeyrac has Lucas’s best interests as his top priority—and quite frankly, so do I.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Well, just keep in mind that if this hearing doesn’t work out well for me, I have no qualms in doing whatever I have to to ensure my son’s health and safety—and that certainly includes reporting you for unethical behavior.”

“Five years is a long time to go without contact if you were really worried about Lucas’s health and safety.”

Charlotte’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “You don’t know what I’ve been through in those five years.”

“I know that a mother who was really concerned with her child’s well-being wouldn’t have gone that long without getting in touch. Now is there something else I can help you with or can I go back to my book?”

She stood up. “I meant what I said,” she said and then she walked off without another word.

Courfeyrac passed her as she left and he frowned a little when he sat across from Combeferre again. “What’d she want?” he asked. “She wasn’t bothering you, was she?”

“Just airing some hurt feelings, I think,” he said.

“Do you want me to say something to her?” he asked. “It’s one thing for her to harass me, but she shouldn’t be dragging you into this. None of it’s your fault at all.”

“I’d rather she harassed me than you, to be honest,” Combeferre said. “You need a break. You look exhausted.”

“I’m a single parent with a full-time job,” Courfeyrac said. “I’d be exhausted with or without her.”

Which was all the more reason Combeferre was determined not to tell Courfeyrac about Charlotte’s latest maneuver. Between managing Lucas’s health and preparing for the custody hearing and keeping atop his grading and lesson planning, Courfeyrac had more than enough on his plate. Combeferre tried to shoulder the burden as much as he could, spending his free evenings over at Courfeyrac’s and helping take care of the housework or else entertaining Lucas so Courfeyrac could get some work done. Finding Lucas a new doctor—that was Combeferre’s responsibility, and he wasn’t going to let Courfeyrac start fretting about that or Combeferre losing his job just because Charlotte was feeling particularly vindictive.

He didn’t like keeping secrets from Courfeyrac, but he would if it gave Courfeyrac some piece of mind.

* * *

 

Combeferre checked his phone. Again. Courfeyrac was running late and so Combeferre kept checking to see if he had a message or a missed call or anything because if he didn’t keep checking his phone then he would have to acknowledge that he was sitting in a coffee shop with his mother waiting to introduce her to his boyfriend.

This was going to be a disaster.

“Any word?” his mother asked. Her hands curled around a coffee mug and she kept glancing over her shoulder to the Musain door, like she was afraid someone was going to sneak up behind her and frighten her.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said. “It’s not too late to just go home.”

“And what sort of impression would that make?” she asked. “I _want_ to meet him, Adrien.”

He checked his phone again. Still nothing. It wasn’t that he was worried about Courfeyrac—he had a hard time being punctual on the best of days—but everything about this night made him uncomfortable. He’d avoided talking to his parents about his romantic life for nearly sixteen years. In the beginning, it’d been hard and painful and he’d had more than one argument with his dad about it after he’d come out to his parents, but now it was habit. It was something he did to protect the precarious balance of the family. When he was with his parents, he pretended he didn’t have any sort of romantic life to speak of and everyone was happier for it. It felt _wrong_ to be here with his mom when Courf was going to show up any minute.

“What changed?” he asked. “You’ve never wanted to know about the guys I’ve dated before.”

“I didn’t know you were dating guys before,” she said.

“I came out when I graduated high school. Did you really think that I just haven’t dated anyone in all that time?”

“I knew you dated,” she said. “And I knew you must have been in relationships, but you never said anything—”

“That wasn’t my choice.”

“I know, and that’s on me and your dad. And I’m sorry about that. That never felt right to me and it’s to my shame that I never fought your father on that issue. I’m trying to make up for that now.”

“But what changed?” he asked again.

“I heard you talk about him,” she said. “I heard the passion in your voice and I saw the affection in your eyes. I know what love looks like, Adrien. And if you love this man, then I want to meet him.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that and he was saved from having to say anything at all when the door swung open and Courfeyrac rushed inside. He was bundled in a coat and scarf and his cheeks were rosy from the walk from his car to the cafe. He scanned the coffee shop and his eyes lit up when he spotted Combeferre and he smiled. Combeferre felt a knot in his stomach loosen.

“Sorry I’m late. Punctuality was never my strong suit,” Courfeyrac said, taking the empty chair at their table. He held out his hand to Combeferre’s mother. “You must be Mrs. Combeferre. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“You can call me Helene,” she said, shaking his hand.

Courfeyrac flashed one of his charming smiles. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he said. “I can see where Ferre gets his good looks.”

Helene blushed a little and Combeferre couldn’t quite believe that Courfeyrac was flirting with his mother. Well, not flirting necessarily, but he was laying on the charm pretty thick and it just felt _weird_. Two worlds colliding that were never supposed to meet. In an effort to ease the tension he felt, Combeferre slid the mug of coffee he’d ordered for Courf across the table to him.

“You ordered for me?” He leaned in and kissed Combeferre on the cheek. “You’re a saint. Have I told you that?”

“A few times,” he said. He glanced over at his mother, wondering how she was handling all of this. She was watching them with a very careful expression. This had been a terrible idea. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking allowing this to happen in the first place. His mother was barely comfortable with the fact that he was gay. How on earth was she going to react to Courfeyrac, who was completely open and shameless and affectionate?

But before Combeferre could suggest that maybe they all just call it a night, his mother squared her shoulders, smiled at Courfeyrac, and said, “So Adrien tells me you’re a teacher?”

Under the table, Courfeyrac put his hand on Combeferre’s knee—a comforting gesture. Of course Courf would realize how anxious he was about all of this.

“Yes! I teach American history at the local high school.”

“And that’s a new job, right? How’s it going for you?”

“It’s great,” Courfeyrac said. “I’ve got great students and the administration at this school is superb. It’s like the dream teaching job.”

In that way that Courfeyrac had, he easily navigated the conversation—moving it forward, keeping it light, never letting it stagnate or get boring. He asked Helene about her volunteer work and her hobbies and coaxed her into telling him stories about Combeferre when he was a child. And because it was nearly impossible to feel uncomfortable in Courfeyrac’s presence, Helene relaxed and opened up the way Combeferre had only seen her do with family or close friends. She laughed and joked and Combeferre watched his mother and his boyfriend the entire time with befuddlement. Never in a thousand years would he have pictured this night going this well.

Which wasn’t to say there weren’t missteps.

Like when Courfeyrac mentioned Lucas for the first time. Helene’s smile faltered.

“You have a son?” she asked. “Did you…adopt?”

Combeferre was kicking himself for not having mentioned Lucas earlier and putting Courfeyrac in this awkward position.

“No, I didn’t adopt,” Courfeyrac said, his brow furrowed a little. A moment later his expression cleared. “Oh, I see where the confusion is,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not gay, I’m bisexual—I like men and women. Back in college, I was in a pretty serious relationship with a young woman and she got pregnant. We kept him—obviously—but she ended up walking out on us not long after he was born.”

Another silence followed this declaration and Combeferre was tempted to rush in and defend Courfeyrac before his mother could vocalize any of million different harmful stereotypes about bisexual people. No, he wasn’t worried that Courf would leave him for a woman or cheat on him or do anything like that. No, dating men wasn’t just a phase for Courfeyrac, not any more than dating women was. He wanted to explain that he never loved someone the way he loved Courfeyrac and that a bunch of stereotypes weren’t going to change that. But under the table, Courfeyrac squeezed Combeferre’s knee. He, at least, was patient enough to give Helene the time she needed to process this.

“I’m sorry that she walked out on you and your son,” Helene said at last. “That must have been hard.”

“It was a long time ago,” Courfeyrac said. “And besides, if she never left, I probably never would have gotten the chance to meet Combeferre—and that’s not something I’d give up at this point.”

Helene smiled, her shoulders relaxing a little. “So tell me about your son,” she said.

And Courfeyrac did. With gusto.

After two and a half hours, Helene checked the time and realized she had stayed much longer than she anticipated.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” she said to Courfeyrac as she put on her jacket. “Adrien, would you mind walking me to the car?”

He kissed Courfeyrac’s cheek as he got up, promising that he’d be back in a minute, and he followed his mother out to the car, knowing that he was going to learn—for better or worse—what she really thought of Courfeyrac. They stood by the driver’s side of her car and she tugged at the collar of his jacket to straighten it.

“You love him, don’t you?” she said.

“I do.”

“And it’s obvious that he loves you,” she added. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who wore their heart on their sleeves quite the way that man does.”

“It’s one of his best qualities,” Combeferre said.

“You hold onto him,” she told him. “I don’t think I could have ever found a better match for you.”

The last edges of anxiety eased. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner,” she said. “If…if you and Hugo are okay with it, I’d like to do this again sometime. I feel like I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

They parted with a hug and Combeferre returned to Courfeyrac, who was patiently waiting for him.

“I saw you two hug,” he said. “I take it that’s a good sign?”

“She likes you.”

“Of course she likes me,” Courfeyrac said, as though he were insulted that Combeferre had ever doubted him. “I told you that parents love me.”

“Have I told you how much _I_ love you?” Combeferre asked. “With anyone else, this night would have been an utter disaster.”

“You could probably tell me that you love me again,” Courfeyrac said with a wry smile. “I also accept gifts.”

“Is another bouquet of office supplies in order?”

“I won’t ever say no to office supplies,” Courfeyrac said, “But I maybe this particular gift could be given in terms of services.”

The glint in Courfeyrac’s eye made Combeferre’s blood run hot.

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips and asked, “Your place or mine?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, folks! Just one more chapter and the epilogue! Thank you all so so much for your comments and kudos and tumblr messages! I've got a tiny human who doesn't like to nap, so I haven't been able to carve out time to respond to the comments and messages I get, but I appreciate every single one of them! Thank you so much for taking the time to leave a comment. You're all the best <3
> 
> Barring any sort of disaster, the next chapter will be up in two weeks! In the mean time, you can find me on [tumblr!](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)


	19. Chapter 19

The time till the hearing passed quickly. Almost too quickly for Courfeyrac’s comfort. He tried to keep busy as best he could to keep his mind from dwelling on all Charlotte-related matters. But it was difficult. He had grading to do—he always had grading to do—but often it was too monotonous to be a sufficient distraction. Combeferre was over often and he tried to keep the atmosphere light, but Courfeyrac wasn’t making it easy for him.  They’d be in the middle of dinner together or watching a movie with Lucas and suddenly Courfeyrac would be reminded about Charlotte or the hearing and would hurry into the other room to call his lawyer to ask a question or get clarification on something she’d said at an earlier meeting.

And even when it was just him and Lucas and they were doing any of their usual day-to-day things, Courfeyrac would suddenly panic that this life he’d carefully cultivated would be torn from him. He tried to shield Lucas from that panic, but he also had to make sure Lucas was prepared for the hearing. He made sure he had frequent conversations with Lucas about what the hearing would be like. At first, Lucas had been nervous about having to go to a court room and having to talk to a judge. It took a little coaxing, but eventually he confessed to Courfeyrac that he was worried he would say something wrong and be sent to jail. Courfeyrac then had a long talk with his son about the difference between a criminal court trial and a family court hearing.

“As long as you’re honest,” Courfeyrac kept reminding him, “then anything you say will be okay. And I don’t want you to worry about hurting my feelings or anything—so if the judge asks you if you like living with me, you’re allowed to say that you don’t like it when I make you brush your teeth. Just be honest. That’s what is important.”

Lucas was still a little nervous about the whole matter, but he seemed to be getting more and more comfortable with it the more Courfeyrac talked about it.

And it seemed that everyone else wanted to talk about it too. His friends at work and among Les Amis kept asking him how he felt about the upcoming hearing and Courfeyrac always told them that he felt fine about it all, that now that he had cleared the paternity test he couldn’t imagine a judge taking Lucas away from him.

But the night before the hearing, Courfeyrac couldn’t sleep. At his core, he still feared the worst. He was so used to everything falling apart now and his mind too easily supplied worst-case scenarios for him to fret over. A conservative judge who thought Lucas would be better off with a mother and stepfather instead of a father and rotation of lovers. Or Charlotte having some card up her sleeve that would unwind all of this. Earlier in the week, he’d had nightmares that his own dad was asked to be a character witness and spent the whole time talking about how Courfeyrac could barely take care of himself, let alone a child.

On some level, he understood how ridiculous all of his fears were. Family members weren’t even allowed to serve as character witnesses in cases like this because they were too likely to biased. He had glowing character references from Valjean, from his old boss in Rochester, and from Lucas’s old pediatrician in Rochester. His lawyer assured him these references would be more than enough to paint a picture of the sort of father Courfeyrac was. And in today’s political climate, denying Courfeyrac custody because he was currently in a relationship with another man was just asking for a lawsuit and Enjolras had already volunteered to take the case _pro bono_ if it worked out that way. (Courfeyrac suspected that Combeferre had pressured Enjolras into making that offer to help alleviate Courfeyrac’s fears, but he appreciated it all the same.)

When his alarm went off in the morning, Courfeyrac turned it off and took a deep breath. Despite tossing and turning all night, he didn’t feel as frazzled as he thought he would be. He wasn’t calm—not by a long shot—but a sense of finality had settled over him, smothering his fears and his anxiety.

Hell or high water, this entire debacle would be over in a few hours.

Wrapping himself in his bathrobe, he crept down the hall to check on Lucas, who made a sleeping sort of humming noise and then rolled over when Courfeyrac opened the door. Over the last five and a half years, Courfeyrac had spent more nights than he could count watching over his son while he slept—from when Lucas was a baby and first started sleeping through the night and Courfeyrac would watch him sleep just to make sure he was still breathing to nights in the hospital while Lucas was hooked up to a dozen sensors to measure his brain activity while he slept. There was a stillness in these moments, a peace that Courfeyrac couldn’t name or quantify, but somehow watching sleep peacefully made him feel like everything would work out in the end.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac had once planned on becoming a lawyer before he’d gotten distracted by teaching after a stint as a TA in his sophomore year of college. He had once planned to spend his whole life in court rooms, but in reality, his knowledge of courts and the judicial system were really the result of hours spent watching crime dramas. He knew that court proceedings on those shows were over-dramaticized and over-blown, but he was still surprised at how humble the room for the hearing was.

The court room was entirely underwhelming. Of course, this was a family court matter, not a criminal trial, and he supposed that maybe the rooms for criminal trials were more grandiose. The walls in this room were a bland off-white color. The judge’s bench was made out of cheap looking wood. There was no booth for a jury because there wasn’t a jury in custody hearings like this. Two flimsy tables were set up opposite the bench and Courfeyrac was expected to sit at one with Lara while Charlotte and her husband and their lawyer would be seated at the other. Behind the tables were a few rows of chairs with threadbare padding. Lucas would sit there with Courfeyrac’s parents and Combeferre and anyone else who might show up for moral support.

Something in him loosened when he saw that his parents and Combeferre were already there.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Courfeyrac said to Lucas, keeping his voice hushed before taking his place at the table in the front of the room. “Do you remember what I said?”

“Just be honest,” Lucas repeated. He looked somber in his button-up shirt and clip-on tie.

Courfeyrac pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Exactly,” he said. “And no matter what happens, I love you and I will always be your daddy. Nothing that happens here can change that, all right, buddy?”

Lucas nodded and took a seat next to Combeferre while Courfeyrac’s mom pulled him into a tight hug.

“Everything is going to work out just fine,” she told him. She sounded a little like she was reassuring herself as much as she was him. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“Don’t be,” she said. “You are a superb father and Lucas _loves_ you. Any judge in the world is going to be able to see that.”

Neither of his parents had ever actually told him that they thought he was a good father and he was surprised at how much those words meant to him.

When he excused himself from his family and took a seat next to his lawyer, he was surprised to find that she was smiling.

“You look pleased,” he remarked.

“I am pleased,” Lara said. “I’ve worked with Judge Aduba before. He feels _very_  strongly about father’s being involved in their children’s lives—especially their sons. Once everyone arrives, I’m going to see if we can’t have a private meeting in his chambers with Charlotte’s lawyer and if I have my way, I can swing things in your favor before we even get started.”

The tone of her voice suggested that she usually got her way.

Courfeyrac drummed his fingers on the table has he waited for Charlotte to arrive. He wanted to fidget and pace, he wanted to fiddle with his phone or play a little game with Lucas to get his mind off things, but he felt it was more important to stay still and look like he was an adult who had his shit together.

When the doors behind him opened, he twisted in his seat to see Charlotte and her husband and their lawyer walk in. Charlotte scanned the room and when she found Lucas, something in her expression softened. Courfeyrac realized that this was the first time she was seeing him since she walked out and felt a pang of sympathy. It was obvious she wanted to get to know Lucas now and if she hadn’t been so stubborn about all of this, he was sure they could have worked something out.

But then he looked at Lucas, who was sitting very quietly between Jeanine and Combeferre. Lucas had noticed Charlotte watching him and was staring her down with a surprising amount of vehemence for a five year old. Charlotte had made her choices and now she had to deal with the consequences. It didn’t matter if Courfeyrac was sympathetic, because Lucas was not. He’d been hurt by her abandonment and now by her attempts to disrupt his life. Even if the judge did extend custodial or visitation rights to Charlotte, she wasn’t going to have the relationship she dreamed of with her son. Lucas wouldn’t allow it.

The beginning of the trial passed in a blur. Once the judge entered the room, Lara quickly requested a meeting in his chambers, which he had begrudgingly accepted. They couldn’t have been gone for more than fifteen minutes, but for Courfeyrac, the time dragged on for hours. Charlotte and her husband whispered back and forth to each other, but Courfeyrac was sitting alone and all he could do was twist around in his seat and look for encouraging and compassionate looks from his family and Combeferre.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and when he checked it, he saw a single message from Combeferre.

_Breathe. Relax. Everything will work out._

When the judge and the lawyers returned, the judge announced that he was going to make short work of this hearing. He only wanted to hear from Charlotte, Courfeyrac, and Lucas—in that order.

Charlotte stood before the bench and took a deep breath before she spoke.

“When I was nineteen,” she began, “I made a lot of mistakes. I had unprotected sex before I was ready to deal with the consequences. I drank more than I should have. I cheated on a man who cared about me deeply. But it wasn’t a mistake to bring Lucas into this world and I don’t regret him for a minute. What I do regret was not seeking help when I needed it, because within weeks of his birth, I knew Lucas deserved a better mother than me. Looking back now, I can see how deeply mired I was in a depression I didn’t even recognize, but at the time, I thought the best thing I could do for that sweet baby was to leave him.”

She continued with remarkable composure and elegance, talking through the pain of her depression and the deep longing she now felt to fix the mistakes she had made. She talked about her life with her husband and how she wanted to be able to share that with her son, how she wanted Lucas to know he had both a father and a mother who loved him and were there for him.

“A child can never have too many people loving him,” she said.

It was a hard act to follow, but Courfeyrac got to his feet as she sat down. He took a deep breath and then he allowed himself to do what he did best—he spoke from the heart.

“When Lucas was born,” he said, “the nurses cleaned him off, wrapped him up, and handed him to Charlotte, and I remember crying. I had never seen anything as beautiful as that tiny little baby and I knew in an instant, I would do anything for that little boy. Five and a half years later, I still feel that way. Actually, I love him more now. I didn’t think that was possible when he was born. I thought that he had claimed all the available space in my heart then, but watching him grow has unlocked my heart in ways I didn’t think possible.

“Our life together hasn’t been easy. Being a single parent never is, I think. I was plagued with what all the parenting blogs called ‘mommy guilt’ when I had to put him in daycare at two months old because I had to go back to class to finish my degree. I battled through months and years of sleep deprivation while I tried to keep up with homework and internships and part-time jobs as well as being a dedicated father. I knew from the beginning that Lucas deserved love and a stable home and a parent who wouldn’t brush him off because I was tired or busy.

“And I will be the first to admit that I haven’t always been the parent that Lucas deserved, but I _have_ been there for him each and every day. And every day, I recommit myself to raising him and doing whatever is best for him. If it meant living off coupons and forgoing luxuries that my peers were buying for themselves so that he could have the best daycare and the best preschool, I did it. And when his seizures started and the medical bills started piling up, I swallowed my pride and asked for help and moved back in with my parents because that was what was best for Lucas.”

He paused for a minute to gather his thoughts, to figure out how he wanted to make his case. He would rather talk about the things he’d done right than focus on the things Charlotte had done wrong, but she had screwed up and made shitty decisions and he couldn’t ignore that.

“And in the end, I think that’s the biggest difference between Charlotte and me. When things got hard, when they felt impossible, I reached out and got the help that Lucas and I both needed. I didn’t run away. And I don’t mean to discount the severity of post-partum depression—I know that the lies mental illness speak can be awfully convincing—but she had every opportunity to reach out for help, and instead she ran away. I didn’t run away. I built a village around Lucas to give him all the support he needs—and all the support I need.

“Because Charlotte is right that children can never have too many people loving them. Grandparents, teachers, friends, the parents of friends, the friends of parents. And the thing is, I would have been happy to add Charlotte to that list of people in Lucas’s life—I think it’s important for him to know his mother, though I think he’d disagree with me on that count—but I wanted to do it in a way that respected his feelings. Charlotte may regret her decision, but that doesn’t absolve her of the consequences. And yet she charged back into our lives with demands of joint-custody, with an attitude that she was entitled to Lucas regardless of his feelings about her. And I assure you, Your Honor, Lucas has _plenty_ of feelings about his mother and I don’t think any of them are kind at this point. Just because he’s young doesn’t mean those feelings can be discounted and pushed aside. My first priority in this is Lucas—and it always has been Lucas. I’ve spent the last five and a half years devoted to that little boy and of everyone in this room, I know him the best and I know in my heart and in my bones that trying to force a relationship between him and his mother is not what’s best for him. At the end of the day, I’ll respect whatever decision this court makes—I only ask that you treat Lucas’s feelings with that same respect. Thank you.”

His hands were shaking as he took his seat. He had no idea if he’d said the right thing or if he’d come across as a vengeful ex. Lara put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile and he felt something ease in his chest. If she were smiling, it couldn’t be that bad.

The judge asked Lucas to come forward, and Lucas shuffled up to the front of the room. He looked so small compared to everything around him, and more than once, he looked over his shoulder at Courfeyrac, his wide eyes seeking reassurance.

Lucas didn’t look at Charlotte once.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Lucas said, glancing back at Courfeyrac again. Courfeyrac smiled at him and made a heart shape with his hands.

The judge smiled kindly at him. “Could you tell me what a typical day is like for you and your dad?”

Lucas nodded. “Daddy gets me up in the mornings and on weekdays that’s the only time I get to see him in the morning because he has to go to work and Grandma makes me breakfast and helps me get ready for school and makes sure I take my medicine and takes me to school, but on weekends, Daddy and I stay in our pajamas and he makes good breakfast and that’s why I like weekends the best. But I also like school days because I go to a good school and Miss Cosette has lots of good books in her classroom and I get to sit next to Miranda who’s my best friend and we get to play at recess even though we don’t get to go outside because it’s cold. Daddy picks me up from school except when he’s busy with his growned up students and we go home and have a snack and sometimes it’s ice cream but other times it’s fruits and peanut butter and after that we play for a bit or sometimes Daddy lets me watch _Daniel Tiger_ and he always lets me help cook dinner even though he says it goes slower that way and we read lots of stories before bed and that’s my favorite time because it’s just me and my daddy. I love Grandma, but I especially like it when it’s just me and Daddy.”

“And how do you feel about staying with your mom sometimes?”

“I don’t have a mom,” Lucas said bluntly. “I only have a daddy—but that’s okay because Daddy told me that families come in lots of shapes and sizes and some people have two mommies and some don’t have any but all that matters is that you love each other. And I love my daddy and he loves me.”

Judge Aduba nodded thoughtfully and told Lucas he could go back to his seat, though Lucas hurried over to Courfeyrac and climbed into his lap instead of going back to his seat. The judged watched them both for a long moment before excusing himself to his chambers to look over a few things. Jeanine motioned for Lucas to come back to his seat, but Lucas just snuggled closer to Courfeyrac.

Not that Courfeyrac minded. Having Lucas near was comforting right now and snuggling his little boy made the time waiting for Judge Aduba to return easier to bear.

 It wasn’t more than ten minutes before Judge Aduba took his place at the bench again. He shuffled some papers in front of him and then looked out at the room.

“I’m going to make short work of this,” he said. “Mrs. Berry, the fact of the matter is, whether you regret it or not, you abandoned this boy and it’s been long enough since you made any attempt at contact that any right you have to him is moot. The fact that you’ve gone through such desperate lengths seems to me an attempt to placate your own feelings rather than having an interest in doing what’s best for Lucas—and as all of us are adults, I think we should be able to agree that doing what’s best for Lucas should be our goal. That said, I can also appreciate that you realize now that you want to be involved in your child’s life. I think parents who want to be involved with their children’s lives should have that opportunity. For now, however, full and primary custody of Lucas Courfeyrac will remain with his father, Mr. Hugo Courfeyrac. Mrs. Berry, if you are sincere in your desire to reconnect with your child, it seems to me that you owe Mr. Courfeyrac a rather hefty sum in child support payments. Once that is paid, and once you have shown that you will continue to help bear the financial responsibility of this child, then we can all meet again and discuss visitation rights.” He whacked his gavel against the sound block. “This court is dismissed.”

As soon as the judge had stepped down from the bench, Courfeyrac was on his feet with Lucas in his arms. They were both crying, but he didn’t care. Their embrace was soon joined by mother and—to his surprise—his father. Over his mother’s shoulder, Courfeyrac could see Charlotte and Benjamin quickly gather their things. Charlotte was also crying. Together, they hurried out of the courtroom, but not before Charlotte stopped and said something to Combeferre, who was waiting for the Courfeyracs near the door.

Frowning a little, Courfeyrac disentangled himself from his parents and his son. As they gathered up their belongings, Jeanine talked out her plans to take all of them out for a very expensive meal and Lucas did his best to convince her that they should really be going to Pizza Palace instead. Courfeyrac turned to Lara to see if there was anything else she needed from him, but she shooed him along.

“Go celebrate,” she said. “I’ll call you in a couple of days to talk about getting those child support payments set up.”

Grabbing his coat, Courfeyrac followed his family to the door. When he caught up with Combeferre, Combeferre leaned in and kissed him. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice warm. “I knew this would work out in your favor.”

“I’m just not used to things working in my favor, you know?” he said. “The last five years—it’s really been one thing after another, but I think I can get used to things going right. It’s a good feeling.”

“About that,” Combeferre said slowly.

“Oh, hell,” he said, his stomach twisting uncomfortably and his mind leaping to the worst conclusion, “you’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

“No!” Combeferre was quick to reassure him. “You’re going to have get rid of me, not the other way around. It’s just that we’ve got one last hurdle to jump before we can put this behind us.”

“Oh?”

Combeferre took a deep breath and explained how Charlotte had pieced together that he was Lucas’s doctor and that she’d been threatening for a few weeks now to report him for an ethics violation and that now she finally had the impetus to do so. “If she goes through with this,” he said, “and I have no reason to think that she won’t, I’ll probably have to attend an ethics hearing. My license will probably be suspended.”

Courfeyrac tugged his hand through his hair. “When exactly were you planning on telling me all of this?”

“You had enough on your plate these last few months,” Combeferre said. “I couldn’t bear the thought of making this worse. I was…well, to be honest, I was hoping she’d forget about it by now.”

“Ferre, you could lose your job!”

“This is enough of a gray area that my license will probably only be suspended for a few weeks—if that. Honestly, if I can find someone who can take over as Lucas’s primary care doctor before the hearing, it might not even be an issue.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“To be fair, I do think you have a tendency to catastrohpize.” Combeferre prodded him to the door. His family was waiting for them out in the hall.

“Preparing for the worst-case scenario is not the same as catastrophizing,” Courfeyrac said.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Combeferre. “If you and your catastrophizing are right and I lose my job, I’ll find another job.”

“You can’t just find a new job just like that.”

“That’s not the point,” Combeferre said. “The point is that I’ll survive whatever happens because I know I’ll have you at my side. Everything else is inconsequential.”

Despite the fundamental wrongness of the situation, Combeferre’s insistence that they would face this has a team eased the worries that had started to blossom in Courfeyrac’s chest. They were a team and they would face this together. Everything else was inconsequential.

* * *

 

In the end, Charlotte did report Combeferre and an ethics hearing was scheduled for the beginning of February. Courfeyrac spent the whole time mapping out every worst case scenario—from the plausible to the far-fetched—because then if the worst happened, he wouldn’t be caught by surprise. Combeferre spent the whole time arranging for one of his old med school buddies to take Lucas on as a patient. This new doctor—a kind woman with a heart-shaped face named Dr. Lackey—didn’t live in New Castle, so now Courfeyrac and Lucas had to drive twenty minutes out of town for routine check-ups, but considering the alternative, Courfeyrac thought that was worth it.

On the day of the hearing, Courfeyrac waited outside in the state medical board office parking lot, bundled up in his warmest winter clothing as he leaned against Combeferre’s car. They had driven here together and he had wanted to go into the hearing, to be there for moral support, but Combeferre told him that it wasn’t allowed.

So Courfeyrac waited outside, clutching a cup of coffee to his chest for warmth.

When Combeferre came out, Courfeyrac beamed at him and tried to read his body language for any indication of how the hearing went.

Combeferre kissed him and then pulled a face. “Your lips are cold. You could have waited in the car, you know.”

“I needed to be able to pace,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre opened the car door for him and Courfeyrac quickly climbed in. Once Combeferre had climbed into the driver’s seat, Courfeyrac asked, “How’d it go? Do you still have a job?”

“My license has been suspended for a week,” he said.

“Only a week? That’s great!”

Courfeyrac had been more or less convinced that Combeferre would, in fact, lose his job. Not that he mentioned any of that to Combeferre lest he be accused of catastrophizing again.

Combeferre nodded. “At least one person on the ethics committee thought this whole thing was blown out of proportion, considering we started dating before we knew your son was one of my patients and considering that Lucas is no longer my patient. I think the rest of the committee voted for the suspension just to discourage other people from doing this sort of thing.”

“They had to make an example of us,” Courferyac said, nodding. “I can’t say that I like that, but I understand.”

“I’m going to have reschedule the clinic hours I do for the women’s shelter,” Combeferre said. “I hate to let those women down—especially over what amounts to a personal indiscretion.”

“Personal indiscretion makes this sound so deviant,” Courfeyrac said. “Am I your dirty little secret?”

“There is nothing secret about you.”

“You mean that?”

“I’ll shout my love for you from the roof tops if you want.”

Courfeyrac grinned, picturing Combeferre on top of a building, his arms outstretched, as he shouted to everyone below that he was deeply, madly in love with Hugo Courfeyrac. “That won’t be necessary,” Courfeyrac said. “But maybe a kiss?”

Combeferre obliged, leaning across the center console in his car to press his lips to Courfeyrac’s. They had shared plenty of kisses in the last few months, ranging from the chaste and routine to the heated and passionate. Courfeyrac loved them all, but he especially loved this one. Loved his lips moving against Combeferre’s, loved the taste of his boyfriend’s mouth, and loved the warmth that started in his lips and went all the way down to his toes.

He loved this kiss because it was a first kiss of sorts. Since their first kisses in the early days of their relationship, this was their first kiss without anything hanging over their heads. No doctor-patient ethical issues, no aggressive exes threatening to tear them apart, no health issues and no upcoming hearings. This kiss was a new start. A first kiss to mark the next phase of their relationship—and like all first kisses, it came with nothing but the hope and promises of a brighter tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY!!!! Did I mention that already? I meant to have this done MONTHS ago and I really have no excuse for why this took OVER SIX MONTHS for me to finish! All I can say is that the election back in November really took its toll and then when I was starting to recover from that, we hit stupid inauguration week and that was a complete mess and all my head space was taken up by politics and other garbage. BUT I'M BACK. AND I FINISHED THIS. (Well, sort of. There's still an epilogue because I'm a sucker for epilogues but it's going to be short and it might take me another few weeks to toss is up here but I swear it won't take another six months.)
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH to those who stuck by me and this fic through all of this. If anything, this has been a lesson in why I should never ever ever start posting a long fic unless I've got the whole thing written already. You've all been incredibly kind and patient and supportive and I love you all! If it hadn't been for your continued interest in this fic, I probably would have burned the whole thing to the ground months and months ago.
> 
> Anyway, stay tuned for the epilogue where I will tie up a few loose ends. I'm guessing that should be up in middle-to-late May? June at the latest. (Although, if you don't trust my ability to post things on time, I understand.)
> 
> In the mean time, you can find me over on [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com)! Please feel free to say hi!


	20. Epilogue

 

SIX MONTHS LATER

Courfeyrac hesitated at the Musain doors. Charlotte was sitting inside, just like she said she’d be. He could see her through the glass door. She had a cup of coffee and was scrolling through her phone. It’d been months since he’d last seen her and weeks since he’d last heard from her directly. He was still getting child support payments from her regularly and he was using all of them to pay off Lucas’s medical bills. He was very nearly out of debt now. In all this time, Charlotte hadn’t made any attempts to see Lucas or to harass Courfeyrac about getting to see him, which was why he’d been so surprised to get a text from her late last night asking her to meet him at the Musain.

He would have been well within his rights to refuse her, but the fact that she wanted to meet him today of all days…well, he thought that maybe it was somehow significant.

After ordering a latte at the counter and catching up with the barista who made it, he joined Charlotte at her table.

“I thought maybe you weren’t going to come,” she said.

“I thought about it,” he said. “We’ve got a lot going on today.”

“Are you throwing Lucas a birthday party?” she asked.

“Just family and close friends,” he said.

Charlotte smiled. “Knowing you, that probably means that half the town is coming.” There was nostalgia in her voice, but no malice. “You always considered everyone a close friend.”

He had to laugh at that. “The guest list is probably longer than it should be,” he said. He had let Lucas invite his friends from school, but Lucas thought that Courfeyrac should get to invite friends as well, so his work friends and some of his and Combeferre's mutual friends would also be there.

“Well, I won’t take up much of your time,” she said. “I just…I wanted to get some things off my chest—clear the air a little between us—and I wanted to give you these.”

She pulled out a stack of envelopes and slid them across the table to him. There were maybe three dozen in all, each and everyone of them addressed to Lucas.

“What’s this?”

“I’ve been writing him letters,” she said. “I started a couple of months after I left. I always meant to send them, but I didn’t know if they’d be welcome. There’s birthday cards for him in there and Christmas cards, too. And just letters I wrote to him. I…I knew I couldn’t make up for leaving, but sometimes I would think of him and think of things I wanted to make sure he knew and then I’d write a letter. I thought…I mean, I don’t think a six year old is probably ready for these, but I thought maybe you could hold onto them until he was. And I’d like to keep writing him, but I can send all the letters to you and you can keep them until you think he’s ready to read them.”

Courfeyrac stared at her for a long moment and he wondered what would have happened if this Charlotte had been the one to contact him back in November. A woman who mourned a relationship she didn’t get to have and wanted to do something, anything, to bridge that distance while acknowledging that too much damage may have already been done.

“Why didn’t you show me these back in November?” he asked. “If you’d met with me like this then instead of trying to pick Lucas up from school—Char, things could have ended so differently.”

“I really was awful, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, you were.” He didn’t feel the need to hedge his words to spare her feelings.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I just…” She took a deep breath. “I told myself I was going to be honest with you, so even though it’s hard, I’m going to do it. I can’t have any more children.”

“Oh.” He sat back in his chair. That was not news he anticipated getting.

“We had just found out at Thanksgiving. Ben and I had been trying for two years and we went through some testing and, I don’t know, I guess something got screwed up when I had Lucas. The doctor said something about uterine scarring. And this doesn’t excuse what I did, Courf, I know that, but you deserve an explanation for the hell I put you through.

“When I walked out on you and Lucas, I was in a terrible place. Postpartum depression is a terrifying beast, and I was planning on killing myself. I thought you and Lucas would be better off without me. Especially Lucas. I ended up…drifting for a couple of months and by that point, I didn’t think you or Lucas would _want_ me back, so I stayed away and wrote letters and tried to get my life back on track. And I always took comfort in knowing that, when I was ready to commit to motherhood, I could have another child. I wasn’t looking to replace Lucas, but I felt like I had given up my chance to be with him, but I hadn’t given up my chance to be a mom.”

Courfeyrac knew how important being a mother was to Charlotte. She had talked about it endlessly when she was pregnant with Lucas—how her own mother had died when she was little, and how much she loved her stepmom, and how much she wanted to be that solid foundation and support for someone else. Even though it had been years since he’d been close to her in any sense of the word, he still knew how much the news she couldn’t have more children must have devastated her.

“I’m so sorry, Char.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You really are, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I’ve got my issues with you,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to have to deal with something like this. I’m not petty.”

“You never were,” she said. “Anyway, like I said, we found all this out in November and I just…I went off the rails a little.”

Courfeyrac snorted.

“Or a lot,” she said. “And I know I did everything all wrong, but I was grieving and panicking and apparently I’m just really shit at handling my emotions. After the hearing, my stepmom caught wind of what was going on and yelled at me for a bit over it—made me realize how awful I was being. So Ben and I started seeing a therapist and we just got approved to be foster parents. We’re hoping to go the foster-to-adopt route.”

“I hope that works out for you,” Courfeyrac said. “And when you do adopt, I hope you’ll let me and Lucas know. I’d love for him to meet his half-sibling—or half-siblings, depending on how things work out.”

Charlotte blinked furiously for a minute. “Anyway,” she said, her voice thick. She patted the stack of envelopes again. “Please keep those for Lucas for me. Give them to him when you think he’s ready.”

She excused herself, clearly not willing to sit around and chat. He took his time finishing his latte, thinking over how many things had gone wrong and how different things could have been today. If Charlotte had brought him these letters back in November, if she had never left him and Lucas in the first place—but no. He was happy now. Things between him and Charlotte weren’t ideal, but she was at least trying to be decent. He didn’t ever want to get caught up in what could have been because what he had now was so perfect—a good job, an excellent support network of friends, a happy and healthy son, a loving and attentive boyfriend. A year ago, he didn’t know his life could be so great.

When he finished his latte, Courfeyrac stood up, tucked Charlotte’s letters in his pocket, and left.

He had a birthday party to set up.

* * *

 

Courfeyrac carefully slipped his way through the crowd in his home. Charlotte had been right—even limiting Lucas’s sixth birthday party to family and close friends, there were far too many people to fit comfortably in the pool house. He had just escaped his mother, who was gently nagging him to move the party over to the main house where they “wouldn’t be packed in here like sardines in a tin.” When he said they couldn’t just move the party because all the decorations were already set up here, she had waved her hand in a way that made him wonder if she hadn’t done her own decorating for this party. Deciding he didn’t want to find out, he had made some excuse about needing to check on the drinks and slipped away.

He backed against the wall in his narrow hallway as a small herd of six year olds—friends from Lucas’s kindergarten class—ran past him, giggling wildly. Bossuet followed them, arms raised up over his head and growling like he was some sort of bear or monster. Courfeyrac watched till they rounded the corner, making sure that Bossuet didn’t trip and accidentally squash one of the children.

In the kitchen, he found most of the adults. His friends from work hadn’t been willing to pass up an excuse to get together over the summer months. Grantaire and Feuilly leaned against the kitchen island as they talked and munched on the snacks Courfeyrac had prepared for the event. Bahorel and Jehan stood in the corner of the kitchen, Bahorel’s arm slung across Jehan’s shoulders, while they talked to Joly and Musichetta. When he spotted Enjolras sitting at the table with his dad, both of talking animatedly but sternly, Courfeyrac had to stop himself from intervening. He couldn’t imagine that the two men would agree with each other about _anything_ and didn’t want an argument to erupt in the middle of his son’s birthday party, but Jehan spotted him and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

He relaxed knowing that Jehan had his eye on the situation—probably alongside everyone else in the kitchen. Someone would intervene before things got heated, which meant that Courfeyrac could continue his search for the two people he most wanted to find.

He found Lucas and Combeferre in Lucas’s bedroom sitting together on the bed. Lucas was showing Combeferre the book he’d gotten in the mail yesterday from his Aunt Josie and Combeferre leaned in to get a better view of whatever Lucas was pointing out to him. Courfeyrac lingered in the doorway for a moment. His two favorite people, right in one spot. He loved it when that happened. He and Combeferre were still taking their relationship slow and steady, and it was starting to chafe. Courfeyrac wanted to see _this_ more often—wanted Combeferre and Lucas together right in one spot where he could spy on their private moments together. Combeferre said they were in no position to talk about moving in together when Courfeyrac had mentioned it off-handedly a few weeks back, but Courfeyrac thought that he would have to bring it up again. Casually, slowly. Dropping hints here and there about having their own place until Combeferre warmed up to the idea some more. He wanted this to be the norm, not the exception.

Combeferre spotted him lingering in the doorway and gave him the chiding look he always gave when he caught Courfeyrac watching him and Lucas together. Courfeyrac couldn’t help himself. There was something about watching his son interact with the man he loved that stopped his heart every time. He walked over to the bed, but instead of squeezing his way in between them—which is what he most often did when he found them together, usually huddled over a book like they were now—Courfeyrac delicately sat on top of his son, taking care to not actually put any of his weight on the little boy.

“Have you seen Lucas around?” Courfeyrac asked Combeferre, smiling as he felt Lucas’s little hands press against his back and heard him giggle. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Daddy!” was Lucas’s muffled response.

“He was just here,” Combeferre said. “I don’t know where he disappeared to.”

Lucas pushed harder against Courfeyrac’s back. “I’m right here!”

“If we can’t find him soon,” Courfeyrac said, “I’m going to have to open all his presents for him.”

“And I’ll probably have to eat that entire cake,” Combeferre said. “It’s an ice cream cake. We can’t let it melt.”

“Daddy, Ferre, I’m right here! You’re squishing me!”

“If only I knew where he was,” Courfeyrac said, shaking his head solemnly.

“You know what,” Combeferre said. “He’s probably in the kitchen eating lots of zucchini. He was telling me just the other day how much he loves zucchini.”

Lucas giggled harder. “Yuck!”

“Maybe we should swap out his cake for a nice bundle of zucchini,” Courfeyrac said. “I bet he would love that.”

“Nooooo!”

“Maybe we should check with him first,” Combeferre said. “It is his birthday after all.”

“We’d have to find him first.”

“I’m right here!” Lucas said again, still giggling. He pushed against Courfeyrac’s back a little harder.

Courfeyrac leapt up as though he’d just sat down on a pin. “Lucas! Why were you sitting beneath me?”

“I wasn’t sitting ‘neath you,” he said. “You were sitting on top of me!”

“No,” Courfeyrac said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I would do something so silly.”

“Daddy,” Lucas chided.

“Well it’s a good thing you spoke up,” Combeferre said. “We were about to give you zucchini instead of a cake.”

Lucas wrinkled his nose. “Zucchini is yucky,” he said. “I want cake.”

“Spoken like a true Courfeyrac,” Courfeyrac said. He held out his hand and helped Lucas off the bed. “I bet if you find Grandma, she can help you round everyone up and we can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and have cake.”

“And then I can open presents?”

“I think that can be arranged,” he said and watched  Lucas run off, hollering for his grandmother. Courfeyrac thought he should tell Lucas to use his indoor voice and decided against it. It was his birthday, after all, and if a little boy couldn’t make some extra noise at his own birthday party, what was even the point of celebrating?

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asked.

Courfeyrac looked back at him, eyebrow’s raised.

“You’re looking wistful.”

“My baby’s turning six,” he said. “I’m allowed to be wistful, and you’re not allowed to judge me for being wistful.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Combeferre said.

“You knew I was a parent when we got together,” Courfeyrac continued. “Occasional bouts of sentimentality are part of the territory.”

“You’re cute when you’re sentimental,” he said. “I like it. I can’t wait to see how sentimental you’ll be in four years.”

He liked the idea that Combeferre would still be around in four years. “What’s in four years?” he asked.

“Lucas will be ten,” Combeferre said. “That’s double digits.”

Courfeyrac made a piteous sort of noise, unable to comprehend Lucas being a rowdy ten-year-old instead of his cuddly little boy who still needed to be tucked in for bed.

Combeferre’s smile was wicked. “And four years after that, he’ll be in high school and he’ll probably start dating.”

“Nooo,” Courfeyrac said. “Stop it!”

“And two years after that, he’ll be old enough to drive.”

Courfeyrac kicked at Combeferre’s feet. “Why are you saying these things?” he said, unable to keep his distress from his voice. “He’s six! He can barely read! I can’t think about him _dating_ and _driving_. That’s ten years away! What kind of monster are you?”

Combeferre got to his feet and tugged Courfeyrac close and kissed him. “In ten years,” he said in a low voice, “you’ll be in your mid-thirties and fretting about getting old, even though you won’t look a day over twenty-nine. You’ll say nonsense like ‘I’m not old enough to have a son who drives!’ and Lucas will roll his eyes at you. He’ll be at Copland High with you and you’ll know all his teachers and all his friends and he’ll pretend to be embarrassed by you, but secretly he’s going to love being in the same building as you. My hair will start going grey and I’ll have a midlife crisis and want to dye it, but you won’t let me because you’ll think it makes me look distinguished. We’ll have a nice house not far from the school and my practice—somewhere with a yard and maybe Lucas will have talked us into getting a dog. We’ll make him mow the lawn and take the dog on walks. We’ll take turns cooking dinner and every couple of weeks, we’ll host big dinner parties with all our friends, and after everyone goes home and we clean up, we’ll turn in for the night and lay in bed together and I’ll hold you in my arms and we’ll whisper about what are lives will look like ten years from then.”

Courfeyrac buried his face against Combeferre’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and unable to deny how much he yearned for that future. “You promise? You’re going to stick around for the next ten years? The next twenty?”

Combeferre kissed the top of his head and slipped his hand against Courfeyrac's, their fingers intertwining. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannd that's a wrap, folks! I can't believe this took me nearly two and a half years to finish O_o, but here we are!!! Thank you all soooo much for reading and sharing this journey with me! Thank you for all your kind words here and on tumblr and your kudos and your never-ending patience! Your support and encouragement has meant so much to me through all of this! Hugs and high-fives all around!
> 
> I'm not sure what's up next for me in terms of writing, which is strange and scary for me because usually when I finish a fic, I've got another one ready to start posting! I've been working on some original stuff on and off for a while, so I might take some time to focus on that and stay out of the fanfic trenches for a bit. (Working on original stuff after being involved with fic for so long is the wooooorst because all of a sudden, you have no audience and you're just shouting into the void and hoping it all turns out okay.) I might try my hand at writing shorter fics for a while? Stuff that won't take me two and a half years to write? Who knows. If you're interested in keeping up with what I'm doing or what I'm working on or just want to say hi, you can always check out my [tumblr](kingesstropolis.tumblr.com). My askbox is always open, so drop in and say hi if you want!
> 
> Seriously, though, you're all amazing and thank you soooo much for reading!


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